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."

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

Vachel Lindsay

General William Booth Enters into Heaven

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

He Climbs the Hill Where the Tree Grows

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Broncho that Would Not Be Broken

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Lincoln

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Gamblers

    Life's a jail where men have common lot.
    Gaunt the one who has, and who has not.
    All our treasures neither less nor more,
    Bread alone comes thro' the guarded door.
    Cards are foolish in this jail, I think,
    Yet they play for shoes, for drabs and drink.
    She, my lawless, sharp-tongued gypsy maid
    Will not scorn with me this jail-bird trade,
    Pets some fox-eyed boy who turns the trick,
    Tho' he win a button or a stick,
    Pencil, garter, ribbon, corset-lace -
    HIS the glory, MINE is the disgrace.

    Sweet, I'd rather lose than win despite
    Love of hearty words and maids polite.
    "Love's a gamble," say you.    I deny.
    Love's a gift.    I love you till I die.
    Gamblers fight like rats.    I will not play.

Vachel Lindsay

What the Miner in the Desert Said

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    The moon's a brass-hooped water-keg,
    A wondrous water-feast.
    If I could climb the ridge and drink
    And give drink to my beast;
    If I could drain that keg, the flies
    Would not be biting so,
    My burning feet be spry again,
    My mule no longer slow.
    And I could rise and dig for ore,
    And reach my fatherland,
    And not be food for ants and hawks
    And perish in the sand.

Vachel Lindsay

The Beggar Speaks

        "What Mister Moon Said to Me."

    Come, eat the bread of idleness,
    Come, sit beside the spring:
    Some of the flowers will keep awake,
    Some of the birds will sing.

    Come, eat the bread no man has sought
    For half a hundred years:
    Men hurry so they have no griefs,
    Nor even idle tears:

    They hurry so they have no loves:
    They cannot curse nor laugh -
    Their hearts die in their youth with neither
    Grave nor epitaph.

    My bread would make them careless,
    And never quite on time -
    Their eyelids would be heavy,
    Their fancies full of rhyme:

    Each soul a mystic rose-tree,
    Or a curious incense tree:
            .        .        .        .
    Come, eat th...

Vachel Lindsay

The Prospector

Where the ragged, snow-capped saw tooth
    Cuts the azure of the sky
And watches o'er the lonely land
    As ages wander by;
Where the sentinel pines in grandeur
    Murmur to the glacier stream
As it, ice-gorged, gluts the canyon,
    Never brightened by the gleam
Of sun at brightest noon day,
    Nor moon of Arctic night,
And whose only link with Heaven
    Is the fitful Northern Light.
Where the Whistler shrills in triumph
    And the Big Horn dreams in peace,
Where the Brown Bear skulks to cover
    Up where silence holds the lease;
Where the land is as God left it
    Nor has known the tread of man,
There's a treasure ledge a-waiting--
    Go and find it if you can.

If your heart be steeled to triumph
    Nor beats less at ...

Pat O'Cotter

The Prospector

I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
A-purpose to revisit the old claim.
I kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of Fate,
And the lads who once were with me in the game.
Poor boys, they're down-and-outers, and there's scarcely one to-day
Can show a dozen colors in his poke;
And me, I'm still prospecting, old and battered, gaunt and gray,
And I'm looking for a grub-stake, and I'm broke.

I strolled up old Bonanza. The same old moon looked down;
The same old landmarks seemed to yearn to me;
But the cabins all were silent, and the flat, once like a town,
Was mighty still and lonesome-like to see.
There were piles and piles of tailings where we toiled with pick and pan,
And turning round a bend I heard a roar,
And there a giant gold-ship of...

Robert William Service

Chemin De Fer

    Had I been
    a gambling man,
    eschewing the "shoe"
    of chemin de fer ...
    perpetually perched upon that throne
    ... effete kingdom of the dice.

    II
    I am that gambling man ...
    taking free access to many
    a natural habitat, lure
    of the open road,
    contents under a bottle cap,
    the riverine delicacies
    of female flesh. Svelte, like
    the croupier's green vision of cloth,
    tingley-trigger smooth yet addictive
    to the touch.

    III
    Or the pleasures of Ovaltine
    (not necessarily the brand name)
    ... by the handful or cup ...
    upon a summer's day,
    the mind blur of expensive art.

    IV
    Blackjack. Three card stud.
    The poker-face...

Paul Cameron Brown