| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916. |
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| 134. The Noon Hour |
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| 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. | 5 |
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| 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: | 10 |
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| At her throat and eyes and nostrils | |
| The touch and the blowing cool | |
| Of great free ways beyond the walls. | |
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