Lost

Carl Sandburg

Desolate and lone
All night long on the lake
Where fog trails and mist creeps,
The whistle of a boat
Calls and cries unendingly,
Like some lost child
In tears and trouble
Hunting the harbor’s breast
And the harbor’s eyes.

Next 10 Poems

• Carl Sandburg : Mag
• Carl Sandburg : Mamie
• Carl Sandburg : Margaret
• Carl Sandburg : Mask
• Carl Sandburg : Masses
• Carl Sandburg : Mill-doors
• Carl Sandburg : Momus
• Carl Sandburg : Monotone
• Carl Sandburg : Muckers
• Carl Sandburg : Murmurings In A Field Hospital

Previous 10 Poems

• Carl Sandburg : Losses
• Carl Sandburg : Loam
• Carl Sandburg : Limited
• Carl Sandburg : Letters To Dead Imagists
• Carl Sandburg : Last Answers
• Carl Sandburg : Languages
• Carl Sandburg : Knucks
• Carl Sandburg : Kin
• Carl Sandburg : Killers
• Carl Sandburg : Jungheimer's