Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

161. Haze 1/27/2014
162. Helga 1/27/2014
163. Hell On The Wabash 1/3/2003
164. Hemlock And Cedar 1/27/2014
165. High Conspiratorial Person 1/27/2014
166. His Own Face Hidden 1/27/2014
167. Hits And Runs 1/27/2014
168. Home Fires 1/27/2014
169. Home Thoughts 1/27/2014
170. Honky Tonk In Cleveland, Ohio 1/3/2003
171. Hoodlums 1/27/2014
172. Hope Is A Tattered Flag 1/3/2003
173. Horse Fiddle 1/27/2014
174. Horses And Men In Rain 1/3/2003
175. House 1/27/2014
176. How Much? 1/27/2014
177. How Yesterday Looked 1/27/2014
178. Humdrum 1/27/2014
179. Humming Bird Woman 1/27/2014
180. Hydrangeas 1/3/2003
181. I Am The People, The Mob 1/3/2003
182. I Sang 1/3/2003
183. Ice Handler 1/3/2003
184. Illinois Farmer 1/27/2014
185. Improved Farm Land 1/3/2003
186. In A Back Alley 1/3/2003
187. In A Breath 1/3/2003
188. In Tall Grass 1/27/2014
189. In The Shadow Of The Palace 1/27/2014
190. Interior 1/3/2003
191. Iron 1/3/2003
192. Jabberers 1/27/2014
193. Jack 1/3/2003
194. Jack London And O. Henry 1/27/2014
195. Jan Kubelik 1/3/2003
196. Jaws 1/3/2003
197. Jazz Fantasia 1/21/2014
198. Jerry 1/27/2014
199. John Ericsson Day Memorial, 1918 1/21/2014
200. Joliet 1/27/2014
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

Silver Nails

A man was crucified. He came to the city a stranger,
was accused, and nailed to a cross. He lingered hanging.
Laughed at the crowd. "The nails are iron," he
said, "You are cheap. In my country when we crucify
we use silver nails. . ." So he went jeering. They
did not understand him at first. Later they talked about
him in changed voices in the saloons, bowling alleys, and
churches. It came over them every man is crucified
only once in his life and the law of humanity dictates

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