Poeticous Logo
fr
English Español Français Italiano
Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg

Maybe

Maybe he believes me, maybe not.
Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.
 
Maybe the wind on the prairie,
The wind on the sea, maybe,
Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.
 
I will lay my head on his shoulder
And when he asks me I will say yes,
Maybe.

#Americans #PulitzerPrice #XIXCentury #XXCentury

Vous avez aimé cette lecture ? Offrez-nous un café !.
Votre aide nous permet d'exister.
Autres oeuvres par Carl Sandburg...
Sixteen Months

ON the lips of the child Janet fl… It is a thin spiral of blue smoke, A morning campfire at a mountain l… On the lips of the child Janet, Wisps of haze on ten miles of corn…
Street Window

THE PAWN-SHOP man knows hunge… And how far hunger has eaten the h… Of one who comes with an old keeps… Here are wedding rings and baby br… Scarf pins and shoe buckles, jewel…
Our Prayer of Thanks

FOR the gladness here where the s… evening on the weeds at the river, Our prayer of thanks. For the laughter of children who t… bareheaded in the summer grass,
 1
Cripple

ONCE when I saw a cripple Gasping slowly his last days with… Looking from hollow eyes, calling… Desperately gesturing with wasted… In the dark and dust of a house do…
A.E.F.

There will be a rusty gun on the w… The rifle grooves curling with fla… A spider will make a silver string… darkest, warmest corner of it. The trigger and the range-finder,…
Lost

DESOLATE and lone All night long on the lake Where fog trails and mist creeps, The whistle of a boat Calls and cries unendingly,
Corn Hut Talk

WRITE your wishes on the door and come in. Stand outside in the pools of the harvest moon.
Glimmer

LET down your braids of hair, lad… Cross your legs and sit before the… And gaze long on lines under your… Life writes; men dance. And you know how men pay women.
 1
The Harbor

Passing through huddled and ugly w… By doorways where women Looked from their hunger-deep eyes… Haunted with shadows of hunger-han… Out from the huddled and ugly wall…
A Fence

Now the stone house on the lake fr… workmen are beginning the fence. The palings are made of iron bars… can stab the life out of any man w… As a fence, it is a masterpiece, a…
They Ask Each Other Where They Came From

AM I the river your white birds f… Are you the green valley my silver… The two of us a bowl of blue sky d… Who picked you out of the first great whirl of no…
Monosyllabic

LET me be monosyllabic to-day, O… Yesterday I loosed a snarl of wor… on a child. To-day, let me be monosyllabic … a… who wash sunlight in their fingers…
Splinter

The voice of the last cricket across the first frost is one kind of good-by. It is so thin a splinter of singin…
Streets Too Old

WALKED among the streets of an old city and the streets were lean as the throats of hard seafish soaked in salt and kept in barrels many years. How old, how old, how old, we are:—the...
Wind Song

LONG ago I learned how to sleep, In an old apple orchard where the… In a wind-gaunt orchard where the… In a passel of trees where the bra… I slept with my head in an elbow o…



Haut