| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916. |
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| 81. Aztec Mask |
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| I WANTED a man’s face looking into the jaws and throat of life | |
| With something proud on his face, so proud no smash of the jaws, | |
| No gulp of the throat leaves the face in the end | |
| With anything else than the old proud look: | |
| Even to the finish, dumped in the dust, | 5 |
| Lost among the used-up cinders, | |
| This face, men would say, is a flash, | |
| Is laid on bones taken from the ribs of the earth, | |
| Ready for the hammers of changing, changing years, | |
| Ready for the sleeping, sleeping years of silence. | 10 |
| Ready for the dust and fire and wind. | |
| I wanted this face and I saw it today in an Aztec mask. | |
| A cry out of storm and dark, a red yell and a purple prayer, | |
| A beaten shape of ashes | |
| waiting the sunrise or night, | 15 |
| something or nothing, | |
| proud-mouthed, | |
| proud-eyed gambler. | |
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