I Wanted The Gold, And I Sought It,

I Scrabbled And Mucked Like A Slave.

Was It Famine Or Scurvy -- I Fought It;

I Hurled My Youth Into A Grave.

I Wanted The Gold, And I Got It --

Came Out With A Fortune Last Fall, --

Yet Somehow Life's Not What I Thought It,

And Somehow The Gold Isn't All.



No! There's The Land. (Have You Seen It?)

It's The Cussedest Land That I Know,

From The Big, Dizzy Mountains That Screen It

To The Deep, Deathlike Valleys Below.

Some Say God Was Tired When He Made It;

Some Say It's A Fine Land To Shun;

Maybe; But There's Some As Would Trade It

For No Land On Earth -- And I'm One.



You Come To Get Rich (damned Good Reason);

You Feel Like An Exile At First;

You Hate It Like Hell For A Season,

And Then You Are Worse Than The Worst.

It Grips You Like Some Kinds Of Sinning;

It Twists You From Foe To A Friend;

It Seems It's Been Since The Beginning;

It Seems It Will Be To The End.



I've Stood In Some Mighty-mouthed Hollow

That's Plumb-full Of Hush To The Brim;

I've Watched The Big, Husky Sun Wallow

In Crimson And Gold, And Grow Dim,

Till The Moon Set The Pearly Peaks Gleaming,

And The Stars Tumbled Out, Neck And Crop;

And I've Thought That I Surely Was Dreaming,

With The Peace O' The World Piled On Top.



The Summer -- No Sweeter Was Ever;

The Sunshiny Woods All Athrill;

The Grayling Aleap In The River,

The Bighorn Asleep On The Hill.

The Strong Life That Never Knows Harness;

The Wilds Where The Caribou Call;

The Freshness, The Freedom, The Farness --

O God! How I'm Stuck On It All.



The Winter! The Brightness That Blinds You,

The White Land Locked Tight As A Drum,

The Cold Fear That Follows And Finds You,

The Silence That Bludgeons You Dumb.

The Snows That Are Older Than History,

The Woods Where The Weird Shadows Slant;

The Stillness, The Moonlight, The Mystery,

I've Bade 'em Good-by -- But I Can