Aware now, that, amid all the blab whose echoes
recoil upon me, I have not once had the least
idea who or what I am,
But that before all my insolent poems the real Me
still stands untouched, untold, altogether unreached,
Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory
signs and bows,
With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word
I have written or shall write,
Striking me with insults till I fall helpless upon the
sand.
6. O I perceive I have not understood anything—not a
single object—and that no man ever can.
7. I perceive Nature here, in sight of the sea, is taking
advantage of me, to dart upon me, and sting me,
Because I was assuming so much,
And because I have dared to open my mouth to sing
at all.
8. You oceans both! You tangible land! Nature!
Be not too rough with me—I submit—I close with
you,
These little shreds shall, indeed, stand for all.
9. You friable shore, with trails of debris!
You fish-shaped island! I take what is underfoot;
What is yours is mine, my father.
10. I too Paumanok,
I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float,
and been washed on your shores;
17*
