THE DEAD MILLIONAIRE.
Joaquin Miller
- he 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.
- The gold was red with dead men's blood,
- The silver black with groans;
- And when he died he moaned aloud
- "There ll be no pocket in my shroud."