Leaves of Grass

  I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
  Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.

  Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly,
      musical, self-sufficient,
  I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
  Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
  Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an
      island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
  Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong,
      light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
  Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
  The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining
      islands, the heights, the villas,
  The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the
      ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d,
  The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business, the houses
      of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river-streets,
  Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week,
  The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the
      brown-faced sailors,
  The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft,
  The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river,
      passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,
  The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d,
      beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes,
  Trottoirs throng’d, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows,
  A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—
      the most courageous and friendly young men,
  City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
  City nested in bays! my city!