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Rh 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
 * 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Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory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.

O I perceive I have not understood anything—not a
 * single object—and that no man ever can.

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.

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.

You friable shore, with trails of debris! You fish-shaped island! I take what is underfoot; What is yours is mine, my father.

I too Paumanok, I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float,
 * and been washed on your shores;

17*