Back to Index

Mist Forms

by Carl Sandburg, 1920

The sheets of night mist travel a long valley.
 I know why you came at sundown in a scarf mist.

 What was it we touched asking nothing and asking all?
 How many times can death come and pay back what we saw?

 In the oath of the sod, the lips that swore,
 In the oath of night mist, nothing and all,
 A riddle is here no man tells, no woman.

Published in Smoke and Steel

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.