Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

441. Pragmatic 1/13/2003
442. Prayer 1/13/2003
443. Prelude 1/13/2003
444. Premonition 1/13/2003
445. Priscilla 1/13/2003
446. Privacy 1/13/2003
447. Procreation 1/13/2003
448. Profane Poet 1/13/2003
449. Property 1/13/2003
450. Pullman Porter 1/13/2003
451. Quatrains 1/13/2003
452. Ragetty Doll 1/13/2003
453. Raising The Flag 1/13/2003
454. Red-Tiled Roof 1/13/2003
455. Regret 1/13/2003
456. Relativity 1/13/2003
457. Relax 1/13/2003
458. Remorse 1/13/2003
459. Repentance 1/13/2003
460. Reptiles And Roses 1/13/2003
461. Resignation 1/13/2003
462. Resolutions 1/13/2003
463. Retired 1/13/2003
464. Retired Shopman 1/13/2003
465. Reverence 1/13/2003
466. Rhyme Builder 1/13/2003
467. Rhyme For My Tomb 1/13/2003
468. Rhyme-Smith 1/13/2003
469. Rich Poor Man 1/13/2003
470. Ripe Fruit 1/13/2003
471. Ripeness 1/13/2003
472. Rivera Honeymoon 1/13/2003
473. Romance 1/13/2003
474. Room 4: The Painter Chap 1/13/2003
475. Room 5: The Concert Singer 1/13/2003
476. Room 6: The Little Workgirl 1/13/2003
477. Room 7: The Coco-Fiend 1/13/2003
478. Room Ghost 1/13/2003
479. Rose Leaves 1/13/2003
480. Rosy-Kins 1/13/2003
Best Poem of Robert William Service

The Cremation Of Sam Mcgee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in ...

Read the full of The Cremation Of Sam Mcgee

In Praise of Alcohol

In Praise of Alcohol

Of vintage wine I am a lover;
To drink deep would be my delight;
If 'twere not for the bleak hangover
I'd get me loaded every night;
I'd whoop it up with song and laughter -
If 'twere not for the morning after.
For though to soberness I'm given

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