But the well-prepared pavements behold, and mark the solid-wall'd houses.

 Banner and Pennant

Speak to the child O bard out of Manhattan,

To our children all, or north or south of Manhattan,

Point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all—and yet we know not why,

For what are we, mere strips of cloth profiting nothing,

Only flapping in the wind?

 Poet

I hear and see not strips of cloth alone,

I hear the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry,

I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men, I hear Liberty!

I hear the drums beat and the trumpets blowing,

I myself move abroad swift-rising flying then,

I use the wings of the land-bird and use the wings of the sea-bird, and look down as from a height,

I do not deny the precious results of peace, I see populous cities with wealth incalculable,

I see numberless farms, I see the farmers working in their fields or barns,

I see mechanics working, I see buildings everywhere founded, going up, or finish'd,

I see trains of cars swiftly speeding along railroad tracks drawn by the locomotives,

I see the stores, depots, of Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans,

I see far in the West the immense area of grain, I dwell awhile hovering,

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