Facing west from California’s shores, Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound, I, a child, very old, over the waves, towards the house of maternity, The land of migrations, look afar, Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circles; 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… Read More