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Baby Face

by Carl Sandburg, 1918

White moon comes in on a baby face.
 The shafts across her bed are flimmering.

 Out on the land White Moon shines,
 Shines and glimmers against gnarled shadows,
 All silver to slow twisted shadows
 Falling across the long road that runs from the house.

 Keep a little of your beauty
 And some of your flimmering silver
 For her by the window to-night
 Where you come in, White Moon.

Published in Cornhuskers

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