The Klondyker's Dream

by Jack London

               In slumbers of midnight the Klondyker lay;
                  The snow was fast falling, the cold was intense;
               But weary and hungry, his cares flew away,
                  And visions of dinners were calling him hence.

               He dreamed of his home, of the dining-room table,
                  And servants that waited his every behest;
               He longed 0 to eat, to eat all he was able,
                  For ah! of all dreams he had dreamed 'twas the best.

               Then Fancy her marvelous miracles wrought,
                  And bade the thin starved one get out of his bed;
               The Klondyke he left far behind him, he sought
                  The place where the hungered could always be fed.

               He came in good season, the table was laid;
                  The rich, fragrant coffee was steaming and hot;
               The pastries and puddings were there all arrayed;
                  The beefsteak was done, aye was done to a dot.

               His fingers were trembling, so rich was the fare,
                  And when Grace was ended he murmured Amen!
               And took, of all dishes, the beefsteak so rare;
                  Ah! he was the happiest man of all men.

               The jaws of the sleeper are moving with joy;
                  Food quickens his palate, his hardships seem o'er;
               A feeling of plenty steals over the boy -
                  "0 God! thou hast fed me, I ask for no more."

               Ah! whence is that form which now bursts on his eye?
                  Ah! what is that sound that now catches his ear?
               "Tis the dog of the Klondyke thieving so sly!
                  "Tis a crunching of jaws, a crunching quite near!

               He springs from the blankets, he seizes his gun;
                  Gaunt Famine confronts him with images dire;
               But out of the tent goes the dog on the run,
                  For well he knows when it's time to retire.

               The last piece of bacon is gone from the sack;
                  He weeps, 0 he weeps, for he knows what it means;
               The last piece of bacon - 'twill never come back;
                  Henceforth his diet must be sour bread and beans.

               0 'Klondyker, woe to thy dreams of good fare!
                  In waking they left thee, they left on the fly;
               Where now is that beefsteak so juicy and rare;
                  The coffee, the pudding, the pastry and pie?