Noon Hour
Carl Sandburg
1878 to 1967
She sits in the dust at the walls
And makes cigars,
Bending at the bench
With fingers wage-anxious,
Changing her sweat for the day’s pay.
Now the noon hour has come,
And she leans with her bare arms
On the window-sill over the river,
Leans and feels at her throat
Cool-moving things out of the free open ways
At her throat and eyes and nostrils
The touch and the blowing cool
Of great free ways beyond the walls
Carl Sandburg's Noon Hour
I am busy working to bring Carl Sandburg's "Noon Hour" to life through some unique musical arrangements and will have a full analysis of the poem here for you later.
In the meantime, I invite you to explore the poem's themes, structure, and meaning. You can also check out the gallery for other musical arrangements or learn more about Carl Sandburg's life and contributions to literature.
Check back soon to experience how "Noon Hour" transforms when verse meets melody—a unique journey that makes poetry accessible, engaging, and profoundly moving in new ways.
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