The gold that with the sunlight lies In bursting heaps at dawn, The silver spilling from the skies At night to walk upon, The diamonds gleaming in the dew He never saw, he never knew. He got some gold, dug from the mud, Some silver, crushed from stones; But the gold was red with dead men's blood, The silver black with groans; And when he died he moaned aloud "They'll make no pocket in my shroud." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARMAGEDDON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LAUS INFANTIUM by WILLIAM CANTON THE PHANTOM HORSEWOMAN by THOMAS HARDY THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SONG TOURNAMENT: NEW STYLE by LOUIS UNTERMEYER DESCRIBES THE PLACE WHERE CYNTHIA IS SPORTING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES |