Alice Corbin Henderson’s “Gold” quietly walks you through a place where wealth once roared and now only silence settles. The speaker stands amid abandoned mining cabins, noting how wind pushes sand through their cracks. The word “Gold” repeats like a mournful refrain—it still sleeps under the hills, but its human frenzy is long gone. Fleeting memories surface: coins clinking on store counters, whiskey glasses brimming with the stuff, and a woman’s hair catching a reckless, golden light. That single image of a spendthrift gleam captures both the beauty and the waste of a boomtown’s brief life. By the end, the gold has retreated back into the landscape. It’s just inert metal under “empty sunlight,” no longer lighting up faces or fueling dreams. The mood is one of haunting stillness—a mix of wonder and regret for something dazzling that burned bright and then vanished, leaving only the indifferent hills behind.
Gold — Summary
Gold is under these hills; And the wind piles sand Through the cracks of deserted cabins. Gold chinked over the counters, Gold poured into the glasses, Gold flickered and flamed In the spendthrift gleam Of a woman's hair ... Gold is under these hills. Gold in the empty sunlight.