 | Leaves of grass. |  |
BANNER AND PENNANT.
11 Speak to the child, O
bard, out of Manhattan;
Speak to our children all, or north or south of Manhat- tan,
Where our factory-engines hum, where our miners delve the ground,
Where our hoarse Niagara rumbles, where our prairie- plows are plowing;
Speak, O bard! point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all — and yet we know not why;
For what are we, mere strips of cloth, profiting nothing,
Only flapping in the wind?
Speak to our children all, or north or south of Manhat- tan,
Where our factory-engines hum, where our miners delve the ground,
Where our hoarse Niagara rumbles, where our prairie- plows are plowing;
Speak, O bard! point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all — and yet we know not why;
For what are we, mere strips of cloth, profiting nothing,
Only flapping in the wind?
12a
| Leaves of grass. | |