Oh, town of ghosts and drifted sand, How gaunt your beaten houses stand, With flapping doors that idly swing As desert winds their forces bring Against the splintered panels gray -- While on your thresholds, pack-rats play. Oh, little dead Nevada town Of dusty gray and faded brown, In your steep streets, the tumble-weed Has dropped in ruts and gone to seed. The sky -- the earth -- the universe Lie stark beneath some lonely curse! Tell me -- do you remember days When through a misty, golden haze You planned on wealth and happiness, And never dreamed it could be less? When nuggets bright passed hand to hand -- When men called this the promised land? Now, down your lonely, empty streets Only the echo beats -- and repeats Like a haunting song sung o'er and o'er, The squeaking hinge and slamming door. Little town of ghosts and drifted sand -- How long will your battered houses stand? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK RIDERS: 9 by STEPHEN CRANE THE PATH-FLOWER by OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN GOOD-BY AND KEEP COLD by ROBERT FROST THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN: A FRAGMENT by THOMAS GRAY A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 32 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN A WOMAN'S ANSWER by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 8. MUHAIMIN by EDWIN ARNOLD MR. BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |