YOUR bow swept over a string, and a long low note
quivered to the air.
(A mother of Bohemia sobs over a new child perfect
learning to suck milk.)
Your bow ran fast over all the high strings fluttering
and wild.
(All the girls in Bohemia are laughing on a Sunday afternoon
in the hills with their lovers.)
(Carl Sandburg)
More Poetry from Carl Sandburg:
- And This Will Be All.... (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- And So To-Day (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- To A Contemporary (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- A Father To His Son (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- Arithmetic (Carl Sandburg Poems)
- California City Landscape (Carl Sandburg Poems)