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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.