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Jan Kubelik

by Carl Sandburg, 1916

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.)

Published in Chicago Poems

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