Noon Hour Poem by Carl Sandburg
Noon Hour
She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day's pay.
Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:
At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls.
Saandburg's compassion for the hard working poor shows here, in the form of the cigar maker toiling under sad conditions indoors among the dust and drear. With respite comes the hint of fresh, clean air and the cool delights of freedom - which she cannot manage to afford. She may dream on, however.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/19/2024 11:51:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
He writes of a hardworking woman who makes cigars in a factory, sweating to earn her wages. But when the lunch break arrives, she can look out the window and dream of freedom. 'The free open ways' are a contrast to the closed factory. Very impressive.