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Read more poems by Carl Sandburg: Carl Sandburg Poems at Poetry X.

Your bow swept over a string, and a long low note
     quivered to the air.
(A mother of Bohemia sobs over a new child perfect
     learning to suck milk.)

Your bow ran fast over all the high strings fluttering
     and wild.
(All the girls in Bohemia are laughing on a Sunday afternoon
     in the hills with their lovers.)

Added: 16 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 7 Sep 2026 12:12 AM | Viewed: 4874 times

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