Carl Sandburg

Baby Face

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.

Cornhuskers. 1918.

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