| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Cornhuskers. 1918. |
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| 46. Clocks |
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| HERE is a face that says half-past seven the same way whether a murder or a wedding goes on, whether a funeral or a picnic crowd passes. | |
| A tall one I know at the end of a hallway broods in shadows and is watching booze eat out the insides of the man of the house; it has seen five hopes go in five years: one woman, one child, and three dreams. | |
| A little one carried in a leather box by an actress rides with her to hotels and is under her pillow in a sleeping-car between one-night stands. | |
| One hoists a phiz over a railroad station; it points numbers to people a quarter-mile away who believe it when other clocks fail. | |
| And of course … there are wrist watches over the pulses of airmen eager to go to France… | 5 |
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