Walt Whitman: Mannahatta

Mannahatta

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!