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Circles of Doors

by Carl Sandburg, 1920

I love him, I love him, ran the patter of her lips
 And she formed his name on her tongue and sang
 And she sent him word she loved him so much,
 So much, and death was nothing; work, art, home,
 All was nothing if her love for him was not first
 Of all; the patter of her lips ran, I love him,
 I love him; and he knew the doors that opened
 Into doors and more doors, no end of doors,
 And full length mirrors doubling and tripling
 The apparitions of doors: circling corridors of
 Looking glasses and doors, some with knobs, some
 With no knobs, some opening slow to a heavy push,
 And some jumping open at a touch and a hello.
 And he knew if he so wished he could follow her
 Swift running through circles of doors, hearing
 Sometimes her whisper, I love him, I love him,
 And sometimes only a high chaser of laughter
 Somewhere five or ten doors ahead or five or ten
 Doors behind, or chittering h-st, h-st, among corners
 Of the tall full-length dusty looking glasses.
 I love, I love, I love, she sang short and quick in
 High thin beaten soprano and he knew the meanings,
 The high chaser of laughter, the doors on doors
 And the looking glasses, the room to room hunt,
 The ends opening into new ends always.

Published in Smoke and Steel

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