Carl Sandburg turns the spotlight inward—and on his readers—with a string of blunt, uncomfortable questions. The speaker grills himself about everyday moral failures: asking someone to lie on his behalf, exploiting poor people for the comfort of his own family, talking too much, ignoring good advice, preaching against dishonesty while taking money from the vulnerable, and doing good only for show. He doesn’t answer any of these questions, and that silence does the work. The mood is restless and wry, undercut by genuine unease. Reading it feels like being handed a mirror: each question could easily be turned back on the reader. The speaker isn’t just confessing; he’s testing how easily decent people tolerate their own small corruptions. What lingers is the sense that the hardest person to give an honest answer to is yourself.
Questionnaire — Summary
Have I told any man to be a liar for my sake?
Have I sold ice to the poor in summer and coal to the poor in winter for the sake of daughters who nursed brindle bull terriers and led with a leash their dogs clothed in plaid wool jackets?
Have I given any man an earful too much of my talk — or asked any man to take a snootful of booze on my account?
Have I put wool in my own ears when men tried to tell me what was good for me? Have I been a bum listener ?
Have I taken dollars from the living and the unborn while I made speeches on the retributions that shadow the heels of the dishonest?
Have I done any good under cover? Or have I always put it in the show windows and the newspapers ?