Poems by Carl Sandburg

Poems by Carl Sandburg

Experience, by Carl Sandburg

This morning I looked at the map of the dayAnd said to myself, “This is the way! This is the way ...

Humdrum, by Carl Sandburg

If I had a million lives to live
and a million deaths to die
in a million humdrum worlds,

The Right to Grief, by Carl Sandburg

To Certain Poets About to DieTake your fill of intimate remorse, perfumed sorrow,Over the dead ch...

At a Window, by Carl Sandburg

Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and want,...

Chicago, by Carl Sandburg

        Hog Butcher for the World,        Tool maker, Stacker of Wheat,        Player with Railro...

I am the People, the Mob, by Carl Sandburg

I am the people—the mob—the crowd—the mass.Do you know that all the great work of the world is do...

Fog, by Carl Sandburg

The fog comeson little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and cityon silent haunchesand then m...

In Tall Grass, by Carl Sandburg

Bees and a honeycomb in the dried head of a horse in a pasture corner—a skull in the tall grass a...

Long Guns, by Carl Sandburg

Then came Oscar, the time of the guns,  And there was no land for a man, no land for a country,  ...

Passers-by, by Carl Sandburg

Passers-by,Out of your many facesFlash memories to meNow at the day endAway from the sidewalksWhe...

Poems Done on a Late Night Car, by Carl Sandburg


I am The Great White Way of the city:
When you ask what is my desire, I answer:

Grass, by Carl Sandburg

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—

Four Preludes on Playthings of the Wind, by Carl Sandburg

The past is a bucket of ashes.


The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth

Caboose Thoughts, by Carl Sandburg

It's going to come out all right—do you know?
The sun, the birds, the grass—they know.
They get a...

Loam, by Carl Sandburg

In the loam we sleep,
In the cool moist loam,
To the lull of years that pass
And the break of sta...