Robert William Service Poems

We bore him to his boneyard lot
One afternoon at three;
The clergyman was on the spot
To earn his modest fee.
...

(France, August first, 1914)

Far and near, high and clear,
Hark to the call of War!
...

Unto his housemaid spoke the Laird:
"Tonight the Bishop is our guest;
The spare room must be warmed and aired:
To please him we will do our best.
...

I pawned my sick wife's wedding ring,
To drink and make myself a beast.
I got the most that it would bring,
Of golden coins the very least.
...

Hot digitty dog! Now, ain't it queer,
I've been abroad for over a year;
Seen a helluva lot since then,
Killed, I reckon, a dozen men;
...

To hell with Government I say;
I'm sick of all the piddling pack.
I'd like to scram, get clean away,
And never, nevermore come back.
...

A father's pride I used to know,
A mother's love was mine;
For swinish husks I let them go,
And bedded with the swine.
...

Birds have no consciousness of doom:
Yon thrush that serenades me daily
From scented snow of hawthorn bloom
Would not trill out his glee so gaily,
...

I never thought that Bill could say
A proper prayer;
'Twas more in his hard-bitten way
To cuss and swear;
...

What guts he had, the Dago lad
Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile;
For nigh an hour they milled like mad,
And mauled the mat in rare old style.
...