Carl Sandburg Poems

Hot gold runs a winding stream on the inside of a green bowl.

Yellow trickles in a fan figure, scatters a line of skirmishes, spreads a chorus
of dancing girls, performs blazing ochre evolutions, gathers the whole show into
...

And this will be all?
And the gates will never open again?
And the dust and the wind will play around the rusty door
...

Come you, cartoonists,
Hang on a strap with me here
At seven o’clock in the morning
On a Halsted street car.
...

Here is dust remembers it was a rose
one time and lay in a woman's hair.
Here is dust remembers it was a woman
one time and in her hair lay a rose.
...

I will read ashes for you, if you ask me.
I will look on the fire and tell you from the gray lashes
And out of the red and black tongues and stripes,
I will tell how fire comes
...

Every year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
the first arbutus bud in her garden.
...

I shall foot it
Down the roadway in the dusk,
Where shapes of hunger wander
And the fugitives of pain go by.
...

I am glad God saw Death
And gave Death a job taking care of all who are tired of living:

When all the wheels in a clock are worn and slow and the connections loose
...