Carl Sandburg

(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967 / Illinois)

Carl Sandburg Poems

441. Aprons Of Silence 1/3/2003
442. And They Obey 1/3/2003
443. Between Two Hills 1/3/2003
444. Dream Girl 1/3/2003
445. Dreams In The Dusk 1/3/2003
446. Young Sea 1/3/2003
447. A Fence 1/3/2003
448. A Sphinx 1/3/2003
449. A Coin 1/3/2003
450. Grass 1/3/2003
451. A Father To His Son 4/2/2010
452. Among The Red Guns 1/3/2003
453. All Day Long 1/3/2003
454. At A Window 1/3/2003
455. Autumn Movement 1/4/2003
456. Chicago 1/3/2003
457. Arithmetic 1/3/2003
458. Fog 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

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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