A Liberal Is A Man Too Broadminded

My Long Two-pointed Ladder's Sticking Through A Tree Toward Heaven Still, And There's A Barrel That I Didn't Fill Beside It, And There May Be Two Or Three Apples I Didn't Pick Upon Some Bough. But I Am Done With Apple-picking Now. Essence Of Winter Sleep Is On The Night, The Scent Of Apples: I Am Drowsing Off.

When The Spent Sun Throws Up Its Rays On Cloud And Goes Down Burning Into The Gulf Below, No Voice In Nature Is Heard To Cry Aloud At What Has Happened. Birds, At Least Must Know It Is The Change To Darkness In The Sky. Murmuring Something Quiet In Her Breast, One Bird Begins To Close A Faded Eye; Or Overtaken Too Far From His Nest, Hurrying Low Above The Grove, Some Waif Swoops Just In Time To His Remembered Tree. At Most He Thinks Or Twitters Softly, 'safe! Now Let The Night Be Dark For All Of Me. Let The Night Be Too Dark For Me To See Into The Future. Let What Will Be, Be.

The World Is Full Of Willing People; Some Willing To Work, The Rest Willing To Let Them.

I Heard Someone Say He [carl Sandburg] Was The Kind Of Writer Who Had Everything To Gain And Nothing To Lose By Being Translated Into Another Language.

There Is The Fear That We Shan't Prove Worthy In The Eyes Of Someone Who Knows Us At Least As Well As We Know Ourselves. That Is The Fear Of God. And There Is The Fear Of Man -fear That Men Won't Understand Us And We Shall Be Cut Of From Them.