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?

from Walt Whitman, Song Of Myself