To A Contemporary (Carl Sandburg Poems)
You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you ...
You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you ...
SMOKE of the fields in spring is one, Smoke of the leaves in autumn another. Smoke of a steel-mill roof ...
MAKE war songs out of these; Make chants that repeat and weave. Make rhythms up to the ragtime chatter of ...
THE SINS of Kalamazoo are neither scarlet nor crimson. The sins of Kalamazoo are a convict gray, a dishwater drab. ...
YOU come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you get that stuff? What ...
I DRANK musty ale at the Illinois Athletic Club with the millionaire manufacturer of Green River butter one night And ...
We look on the shoulders filling the stage of the Chicago Auditorium. A fat mayor has spoken much English and ...
THIS Mohammedan colonel from the Caucasus yells with his voice and wigwags with his arms. The interpreter translates, "I was ...
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