Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

441. Whitelight 1/13/2003
442. Who Am I? 1/3/2003
443. Wilderness 1/27/2014
444. Wind Song 1/27/2014
445. Windflower Leaf 1/27/2014
446. Window 1/13/2003
447. Winter Milk 1/27/2014
448. Wistful 1/27/2014
449. Woman With A Past 4/2/2010
450. Women Washing Their Hair 4/2/2010
451. Work Gangs 4/2/2010
452. Working Girls 1/13/2003
453. Yes , The Dead Speak To Us 1/21/2014
454. Young Bullfrogs 4/2/2010
455. Young Sea 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Carl Sandburg

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Read the full of Fog

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,

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