Dreams poems

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Dreams in the dusk

© Carl Sandburg

DREAMS in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day
And with the day's close going back
To the gray things, the dark things,
The far, deep things of dreamland.

HERE is a face that says half-past seven the same way whether a murder or a wedding goes on, whether a funeral or a picnic crowd passes.
A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broods in shadows and is watching booze eat out the insides of the man of the house; it has seen five hopes go in five years: one woman, one child, and three dreams.
A little one carried in a leather box by an actress rides with her to hotels and is under her pillow in a sleeping-car between one-night stands.
One hoists a phiz over a railroad station; it points numbers to people a quarter-mile away who believe it when other clocks fail.
And of course there are wrist watches over the pulses of airmen eager to go to France

Carlovingian Dreams

© Carl Sandburg

COUNT these reminiscences like money.
The Greeks had their picnics under another name.
The Romans wore glad rags and told their neighbors, What of it?
The Carlovingians hauling logs on carts, they too

Broadway

© Carl Sandburg

Hearts that know you hate you
And lips that have given you laughter
Have gone to their ashes of life and its roses,
Cursing the dreams that were lost
In the dust of your harsh and trampled stones.

Bringers

© Carl Sandburg

COVER me over
In dusk and dust and dreams.

Cover me over

Boy and Father

© Carl Sandburg

THE BOY Alexander understands his father to be a famous lawyer.
The leather law books of Alexanders father fill a room like hay in a barn.
Alexander has asked his father to let him build a house like bricklayers build, a house with walls and roofs made of big leather law books.

Between Two Hills

© Carl Sandburg

The prayers are said
And the people rest
For sleep is there
And the touch of dreams
Is over all.

Among the Red Guns

© Carl Sandburg

AMONG the red guns,
In the hearts of soldiers
Running free blood
In the long, long campaign:
Dreams go on.

Work Gangs

© Carl Sandburg

BOX cars run by a mile long.
And I wonder what they say to each other
When they stop a mile long on a sidetrack.
Maybe their chatter goes:

Wilderness

© Carl Sandburg

THERE is a wolf in me fangs pointed for tearing gashes a red tongue for raw meat and the hot lapping of bloodI keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me a silver-gray fox I sniff and guess I pick things out of the wind and air I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers I circle and loop and double-cross.

Whitelight

© Carl Sandburg

YOUR whitelight flashes the frost to-night
Moon of the purple and silent west.
Remember me one of your lovers of dreams.

Halsted Street Car

© Carl Sandburg

COME you, cartoonists,
Hang on a strap with me here
At seven o'clock in the morning
On a Halsted street car.

The Shovel Man

© Carl Sandburg

ON the street
Slung on his shoulder is a handle half way across,
Tied in a big knot on the scoop of cast iron
Are the overalls faded from sun and rain in the ditches;

Cups of Coffee

© Carl Sandburg

THE HAGGARD woman with a hacking cough and a deathless love whispers of white
flowers in your poem you pour like a cup of coffee, Gabriel.

The slim girl whose voice was lost in the waves of flesh piled on her bones and

Skyscraper

Hour by hour the caissons reach down to the rock of the
earth and hold the building to a turning planet.
Hour by hour the girders play as ribs and reach out and
hold together the stone walls and floors.

Limits

Of all the streets that blur in to the sunset,
There must be one (which, I am not sure)
That I by now have walked for the last time
Without guessing it, the pawn of that Someone

The Art Of Poetry

To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.

A Petition

© Amy Lowell

I pray to be the tool which to your hand
Long use has shaped and moulded till it be
Apt for your need, and, unconsideringly,
You take it for its service. I demand