The fog comes
 on little cat feet.

 It sits looking
 over harbor and city
 on silent haunches
 and then moves on.

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.

— Martin

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
The Wondering Minstrels