Poem by Robert Lee Frost

A Peck of Gold

Dust always blowing about the town,
Except when sea-fog laid it down,
And I was one of the children told
Some of the blowing dust was gold.

All the dust the wind blew high
Appeared like god in the sunset sky,
But I was one of the children told
Some of the dust was really gold.

Such was life in the Golden Gate:
Gold dusted all we drank and ate,
And I was one of the children told,
’We all must eat our peck of gold.’

1. The Valley’s Singing Day
2. Putting in the Seed
3. Bond and Free
4. New Hampshire
5. The Mountain

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