Where now the huts are empty, <br />Where never a camp-fire glows, <br />In an abandoned cañon, <br />A Gambler's Ghost arose. <br />He muttered there, "The moon's a sack <br />Of dust." His voice rose thin: <br />"I wish I knew the miner-man. <br />I'd play, and play to win. <br />In every game in Cripple-creek <br />Of old, when stakes were high, <br />I held my own. Now I would play <br />For that sack in the sky. <br />The sport would not be ended there. <br />'Twould rather be begun. <br />I'd bet my moon against his stars, <br />And gamble for the sun.<br /><br />Vachel Lindsay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-the-ghost-of-the-gambler-said/
