Walt Whitman

LEAVES OF GRASS
(1891-92 issue)
complete book, e-book

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6

 A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
 How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.
 
 I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
 stuff woven.
 
 Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
 A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
 Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see
 and remark, and say Whose?
 
 Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
 
 Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
 And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
 Growing among black folks as among white,
 Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
 receive them the same.
 
 And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
 
 Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
 It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
 It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
 It may be you are from old people, or from (...)
(......)