Blow! blow! blow! Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok’s shore; I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me.

Yes, when the stars glisten’d, All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop’d stake, Down almost amid the slapping waves, Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears.

He call’d on his mate, He pour’d forth the meanings which I of all men know.

Yes my brother I know, The rest might not, but I have treasur’d every note, For more than once dimly down to the beach gliding, Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, Listen’d long and long.