| Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916. |
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| 34. Chamfort |
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| THERE’S Chamfort. He’s a sample. | |
| Locked himself in his library with a gun, | |
| Shot off his nose and shot out his right eye. | |
| And this Chamfort knew how to write | |
| And thousands read his books on how to live, | 5 |
| But he himself didn’t know | |
| How to die by force of his own hand—see? | |
| They found him a red pool on the carpet | |
| Cool as an April forenoon, | |
| Talking and talking gay maxims and grim epigrams. | 10 |
| Well, he wore bandages over his nose and right eye, | |
| Drank coffee and chatted many years | |
| With men and women who loved him | |
| Because he laughed and daily dared Death: | |
| “Come and take me.” | 15 |
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