| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916. |
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| 51. Dunes |
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| WHAT do we see here in the sand dunes of the white moon alone with our thoughts, Bill, | |
| Alone with our dreams, Bill, soft as the women tying scarves around their heads dancing, | |
| Alone with a picture and a picture coming one after the other of all the dead, | |
| The dead more than all these grains of sand one by one piled here in the moon, | |
| Piled against the sky-line taking shapes like the hand of the wind wanted, | 5 |
| What do we see here, Bill, outside of what the wise men beat their heads on, | |
| Outside of what the poets cry for and the soldiers drive on headlong and leave their skulls in the sun for—what, Bill? | |
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