Salvage
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.
Words in this poem
- mouldy a.
- Overgrown with, or containing, mold; as, moldy cheese or bread. [From Mold the growth of fungi.]
- lied n.
- A lay; a German song. It differs from the French chanson, and the Italian canzone, all three being national. [G.]
- piled a.
- Having a pile or point; pointed. [From 2d Pile.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Salvage is in the public domain. This text is taken from Chicago Poems, Wikisource; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Carl Sandburg, Salvage, in Chicago Poems (1916), text of Wikisource, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/sandburg-chicago-poems/salvage.html, id L28925.
Form and metre
Salvage is 7 lines in a single stanza.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 A-----A parisA · — · gone · them · growing · man · parisA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Guns on the battle lines have pounded now a year between Brussels and Paris. | 19 | ···/˘··/˘·····/˘·/˘ |
| 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! | 37 | ·/˘/˘·····/˘···/˘···/˘/˘˘/˘··/˘·/˘··· |
| 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. | 37 | ······/˘/˘········/˘/˘·/˘˘˘/··/˘····· |
| 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, | 40 | ·/˘···/˘/˘·················/˘··/˘······· |
| 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. | 54 | /˘·/˘/˘··/˘·/˘·/˘···········/˘·/˘··/···/˘·/˘·/˘···/˘/˘ |
| I say, William Morris, I'm glad you're gone, I'm glad you're a dead man. | 16 | ··/˘/˘·········· |
| Guns on the battle lines have pounded a year now between Brussels and Paris. | 19 | ···/˘··/˘·····/˘·/˘ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.