WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own name? repeating it over and over;	 I stand apart to hear—it never tires me.	 To you, your name also;	 Did you think there was nothing but two or three pronunciations in the sound of your name?
Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
child, poetry, sense-of-being, your-name