A child said, What is the grass, poem by Walt Whitman

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 dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and

Adieu to a Soldier

ADIEU, O soldier!
You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared,)
The rapid march, the life of the camp,
The hot contention of opposing fronts 'the long manoeuver,
Red battles with their slaughter, 'the stimulus 'the strong, terrific game,
Spell of all brave and manly hearts 'the trains of Time through you, and like of you,
all
filled,
With war, and war's expression.

Adieu, dear comrade!
Your

In Former Songs

1IN former songs Pride have I sung, and Love, and passionate, joyful Life, But here I twine the strands of Patriotism and Death. And now, Life, Pride, Love, Patriotism and Death, To you, O FREEDOM, purport of all! (You that elude me most�refusing to be caught in songs of mine,)I offer all to you. 2�Tis not for nothing, Death, I sound out you, and words of you, with daring tone�embodying you, In

The Wound-Dresser

1

AN old man bending I come among new faces,
Years looking backward resuming in answer to children,
Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me,
(Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war,
But soon my fingers failed me, my face drooped and I resigned myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;)