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Carl Sandburg - The Noon Hour

SHE sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day's pay.

Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways:

At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls.

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Added: Feb 4 2004 | Viewed: 3682 times | Comments and analysis of The Noon Hour by Carl Sandburg Comments (0)

The Noon Hour - Comments and Information

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 11. The Noon Hour
Volume: Chicago Poems
- Other Days (1900-1910)
Year: Published/Written in 1900
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