FACING west, from Californias shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of migrations,
look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western Seathe circle almost circled;
For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,
From Asiafrom the northfrom the God, the sage, and the hero,
From the southfrom the flowery peninsulas, and the spice islands;
Long having wanderd sinceround the earth having wanderd,
Now I face home againvery pleasd and joyous;
(But where is what I started for, so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)
Facing West from Californiaâs Shores.
written byWalt Whitman
© Walt Whitman