Robert W. Service

“ So he’s kept enough to-night to see him through.
His eye is bright and genial, his tongue no longer lags;
His heart is brimming o’er with joy and mirth;
He may be far from savory, he may be clad in rags,
But to-night he feels as if he owns the earth. ”

“ My poke is mighty weasened up and small.
I thank you each for coming here; the happiness is mine —
And now, you thieves and harlots, take it all.”
He twists the thong from off his poke; he swings it o’er his head;
The nuggets fall around their feet like grain.
They rattle over roof and wall; they scatter, roll and spread;
The dust is like a shower of golden rain.
The guests a moment stand aghast, then grovel on the floor;
They fight, and snarl, and claw, like beasts of prey;
And then, as everybody grabbed and everybody swore,
The man from Eldorado slipped away. ”

“ A vision of green vastitudes beneath an April sky,
And clover pastures drenched with silver rain.
He knows that it can never be, that he is down and out;
Life leers at him with foul and fetid breath ”