Fog -- Carl Sandburg

(Poem #282) Fog The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. -- Carl Sandburg

As Thomas remarked in the notes to Crucible[1], Sandburg's poetry ranges
from passionate, granitic verse to the most delicate and finely-chiselled
Imagist poems, and he displays an equal mastery of both ends of the
spectrum. Today's poem - perhaps his most famous after Chicago - belongs to
the latter category; as perfect and self-contained as a miniature, and with
a truly striking central image.

m.

Links:

A biography of Sandburg is available at poem #163

'Crucible' is at poem #205,
along with another biography

We've run a number of Sandburg poems - look up the index at
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels