Robert William Service
When twenty-one I loved to dream,
And was to loafing well inclined;
Somehow I couldn't get up steam
To welcome work of any kind.
While students burned the midnight lamp,
With dour ambition as their goad,
I longed to be a gayful tramp
And greet adventure on the road.
But now that sixty years have sped,
Behold! I toil from morn to night.
The thoughts that teem into my head
I pray: God give me time to write.
With eager and unflagging pen
No drudgery of desk I shirk,
And preach to all retiring men
The gospel of unceasing work.
And yet I do not sadly grieve
Such squandering of golden days;
For from my dreaming I believe
Have stemmed my least unworthy lays.
Aye, toil is best when all is said,
As age has made me understand . . .
So fitly fold, when I am dead,
A pencil in my hand.
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Comments about this poem (Work by Robert William Service )
- My mother is telling me, gajanan mishra
- The Search, david kush
- Belissima, Patricia Spears Jones
- Ghosts, Patricia Spears Jones
- Let me proceed forward, gajanan mishra
- Beloved of God, Patricia Spears Jones
- What I Have Not Done for Love, Patricia Spears Jones
- Painkiller, Patricia Spears Jones
- we choose to be happy, kemurl fofanah
- Voices, Pamela Spiro Wagner
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