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What's O'Clock/To Carl Sandburg

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4514716What's O'Clock — To Carl SandburgAmy Lowell
TO CARL SANDBURG
I think I am cousin-german to Endymion, Certainly I have loved the moon a long time.
I have seen her, a faint conceit of silver, Shooting little silver arrows into a marsh pool at twilight. I have seen her, high, round, majestic, Making herself a jewel of fire out of a sea bay. I have seen the morning moon, grievously battered, Limping down a coloured sky. To-night I saw an evening moon Dodging between tree-branches Through a singing silence of crickets, And a man was singing songs to a black-backed guitar.
To-day I saw a country I knew well but had never seen. A country where corn runs a mile or more to a tree-line, A country where a river, brown as bronze, streaked green with the flowing heads of water-plants, Slips between a field of apples and a field of wheat. A country where the eye seeks a long way And comes back on the curve of a round sky, Satisfied with greens and blues, tired with the stretch and exhilarated by it.
The moon stops a moment in a hole between leaves And tells me a new story, The story of a man who lives in a house with a pear-tree before the door, A story of little green pears changing and ripening, Of long catalpa pods turning yellow through September days. There is a woman in the house, and children, And, out beyond, the corn-fields are sleeping and the trees are whispering to the fire-flies. So I have seen the man's country, and heard his songs before there are words to them. And the moon said to me: "This now I give you," and went on, stepping through the leaves.And the man went on singing, picking out his accompaniment softly on the black-backed guitar.