FACING west, from California's 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 Sea--the circle almost circled;
 For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,
 From Asia--from the north--from the God, the sage, and the hero,
 From the south--from the flowery peninsulas, and the spice islands;
 Long having wander'd since--round the earth having wander'd,
 Now I face home again--very pleas'd and joyous;
 (But where is what I started for, so long ago? 10
 And why is it yet unfound?)