Song of Myself; 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.
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.
posted by Ashley at
12:48 AM
1 Comments:
We discussed that poem in my American Lit class on the best academic day ever! [I believe I told you about it: Thoreau, Whitman, John Donne, aaaaaand Orson Scott Card!] And it really is quite lovely.
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