The Prospector

LURED by the golden glamor of the West, He crossed the pathless plains and scaled the bold Titanic forms that, rising fold on fold, Touch heaven's blue; and, toiling, strove to wrest From Nature's rugged and reluctant breast The treasure she had hidden there of old — The treasure of her hoarded yellow gold — Seductive hope of many a hapless quest!

For this he left all other hopes behind, And gave his manhood's prime and powers away, Content to be forgotten of his kind — Yet all the while within himself there lay The unregarded treasure of the mind, Deep-buried, priceless, wasting day by day.