Graham offers Robert Frost's words, ‘‘I would no more think of writing free verse than of playing tennis without a net.’’ followed by a rejoinder by Sandburg, ‘‘One of our foremost poets has said that he would no more think of writing free verse than of playing tennis without a net, but I would have him know that I have not only played tennis without a net but have used the stars for tennis balls.’’ Interested readers are invited to visit Graham's article (originally in North American Review in 1967) for still more. Here is a poem -- with a million and thousands and five -- by Carl Sandburg.
She had a box
with a million red silk bandannas for him.
She gave them to him
one by one or by thousands,
saying then she had not enough for him.
She had languages and landscapes
on her lips and the end of her tongue,
landscapes of sunny hills and changing fogs,
of houses falling and people within falling,
of a left-handed man
who died for a woman who went out of her mind,
of a guitar player
who died with fingers reaching for strings,
of a man whose heart stopped
as his hand went out to put a pawn forward
on the fifth day of one game of chess,
of five gay women
stricken and lost
amid the javelins and chantsof love beyond keeping.
I have "Love Beyond Keeping" in Sandburg's 1963 collection Honey and Salt (Harcourt Brace).