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Carl Sandburg - SalvageCarl Sandburg - Salvage
Work rating: Medium


Guns on the battle lines have pounded now a year     between Brussels and Paris. And, William Morris, when I read your old chapter on     the great arches and naves and little whimsical     corners of the Churches of Northern France—Brr-rr! I`m glad you`re a dead man, William Morris, I`m glad     you`re down in the damp and mouldy, only a memory     instead of a living man—I`m glad you`re gone. You never lied to us, William Morris, you loved the     shape of those stones piled and carved for you to     dream over and wonder because workmen got joy     of life into them, Workmen in aprons singing while they hammered, and     praying, and putting their songs and prayers into     the walls and roofs, the bastions and cornerstones     and gargoyles—all their children and kisses of     women and wheat and roses growing. I say, William Morris, I`m glad you`re gone, I`m glad     you`re a dead man. Guns on the battle lines have pounded a year now between     Brussels and Paris.
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