Carl Sandburg Poems

Into the blue river hills
The red sun runners go
And the long sand changes
And to-day is a goner
...

Twenty men stand watching the muckers.
Stabbing the sides of the ditch
Where clay gleams yellow,
Driving the blades of their shovels
...

Riding against the east,
A veering, steady shadow
Purrs the motor-call
Of the man-bird
...

Let us be honest; the lady was not a harlot until she
married a corporation lawyer who picked her from
a Ziegfeld chorus.
Before then she never took anybody's money and paid
...

In western fields of corn and northern timber lands,
They talk about me, a saloon with a soul,
The soft red lights, the long curving bar,
The leather seats and dim corners,
...

Passers-by,
Out of your many faces
Flash memories to me
Now at the day end
...

She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
...

I painted on the roof of a skyscraper.
I painted a long while and called it a day's work.
The people on the corner swarmed and the traffic cop's whistle never let up all afternoon.
They were the same as bugs, many bugs on their way--
...

White moon comes in on a baby face.
The shafts across her bed are flimmering.
...