Vachel Lindsay (Вэчел Линдсей)

What the Ghost of the Gambler Said

WHERE now the huts are empty, 
Where never a camp-fire glows, 
In an abandoned canyon, 
A Gambler’s Ghost arose. 
He muttered there, ”The moon’s a sack 
Of dust.” His voice rose thin: 
”I wish I knew the miner-man. 
I’d play, and play to win. 
In every game in Cripple-creek 
Of old, when stakes were high, 
I held my own. Now I would play 
For that sack in the sky. 
The sport would not be ended there. 
’Twould rather be begun. 
I’d bet my moon against his stars, 
And gamble for the sun.

1. The Merciful Hand
2. When Gassy Thompson Struck It Rich
3. The King of Yellow Butterflies
4. To Buddha
5. Above the Battle’s Front

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1389

Последние стихотворения

To English version