A half-dead thing in a stark dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold.

I remember little of the Yukon or what I wrote there.

To see the skinny hag in black who boosts you up the curb.

The lonely sunsets flare forlorn Down valleys dreadly desolate; The lonely mountains soar in scorn As still as death, as stern as fate.

Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit. It's the keeping your chin up that's hard.

This is the law of the Yukon, that only the strong shall thrive; that surely the weak shall perish, and only the fit survive.

His life, though none too long, Was never dull: Of woman, wine and song Bill had his full.

Then you've a hunch what the music meant ... hunger and night

and the stars.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time You stand to bow your last adieu; A moment, and the prompter's chime Will ring the curtain down on you.

No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.

My Boss keeps sporty girls, they say; His belly's big with cheer.

Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark.

I have no doubts that the Devil grins, As seas of ink I spatter. Ye gods, forgive my literary sins -- The other kind don't matter.

Be sure your wisest words are those you do not say.

When children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be; When we thank our God for our grief today, and blazon from sea to sea In the name of the Dead the banner of Peace ... that will be Victory.

They hospitably welcomed it and at the food rack gave it place.

Open wide the window; there's a lark a-singing; there's a glad lark singing in the evening sky.

Ah! the clock is always slow; it is later than you think.

Even goats may have starlight in their eyes.