Cornhuskers/Leather Leggings

by Carl Sandburg

LEATHER LEGGINGS

They have taken the ball of earth

and made it a little thing.

They were held to the land and horses;

they were held to the little seas.

They have changed and shaped and welded;

they have broken the old tools and made

new ones; they are ranging the white

scarves of cloudland; they are bumping

the sunken bells of the Carthaginians

and Phœnicians:

they are handling

the strongest sea

as a thing to be handled.

The earth was a call that mocked;

it is belted with wires and meshed with

steel; from Pittsburg to Vladivostok is

an iron ride on a moving house; from

Jerusalem to Tokyo is a reckoned span;

and they talk at night in the storm and

salt, the wind and the war.

They have counted the miles to the Sun

and Canopus; they have weighed a small

blue star that comes in the southeast

corner of the sky on a foretold errand.

We shall search the sea again.

We shall search the stars again.

There are no bars across the way.

There is no end to the plan and the clue,

the hunt and the thirst.

The motors are drumming, the leather leggings

and the leather coats wait:

Under the sea

and out to the stars

we go.