Starting from Paumanok
By Walt Whitman
1
Starting from fish-shape Paumanok, where I was born,
Well-begotten, and rais’d by a perfect mother;
After roaming many lands—lover of populous pavements;
Dweller in Mannahatta, my city—or on southern savannas;
Or a soldier camp’d, or carrying my knapsack and gun—or a miner in California;
Or rude in my home in Dakota’s woods, my diet meat, my drink from the spring;
Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess,
Far from the clank of crowds, intervals passing, rapt and happy;
Aware of the fresh free giver, the flowing Missouri—aware of mighty Niagara;
Aware of the buffalo herds, grazing the plains—the hirsute and strong-breasted bull;
Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers, experienced—stars, rain, snow, my amaze;
Having studied the mocking-bird’s tones, and the mountainhawk’s,
And heard at dusk the unrival’d one, the hermit thrush from the swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.