So we played the bitter game nor asked for praise or pity:
Wind and wolf they found the bones that blazed out lonely trails....
Where a dozen shacks were set, to-day there blooms a city;
Now where once was empty blue, there pass a thousand sails.
Scarce a peak that does not mark the grave of those who perished
Nameless, lost to lips of men who followed, gleaning fame
From the soundless triumph of adventurers who cherished
Naught above the glory of a chance to play the game.
Half the toil—and we had won to wealth in other station;
Rusted out as useless ere our worth was tried and known.