Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

721. The Spell Of The Yukon 1/13/2003
722. The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe 1/13/2003
723. The Squaw Man 1/13/2003
724. The Stretcher-Bearer 1/13/2003
725. The Summing Up 1/13/2003
726. The Sum-Up 1/13/2003
727. The Super 1/13/2003
728. The Telegraph Operator 1/13/2003
729. The Thinker 1/13/2003
730. The Three Bares 1/13/2003
731. The Three Tommies 1/13/2003
732. The Three Voices 1/13/2003
733. The Trail Of Ninety-Eight 1/13/2003
734. The Trail Of No Return 1/13/2003
735. The Tramps 1/13/2003
736. The Trapper's Christmas Eve 1/13/2003
737. The Trust 1/13/2003
738. The Tunnel 1/13/2003
739. The Twa Jocks 1/13/2003
740. The Twins 1/13/2003
741. The Twins Of Lucky Strike 1/13/2003
742. The Under-Dogs 1/13/2003
743. The Undying 1/13/2003
744. The Visionary 1/13/2003
745. The Volunteer 1/13/2003
746. The Walkers 1/13/2003
747. The Wanderlust 1/13/2003
748. The Wedding Ring 1/13/2003
749. The Wee Shop 1/13/2003
750. The Whistle Of Sandy Mcgraw 1/13/2003
751. The Widow 1/13/2003
752. The Widower 1/13/2003
753. The Wife 1/13/2003
754. The Wildy Ones 1/13/2003
755. The Wistful One 1/13/2003
756. The Woman And The Angel 1/13/2003
757. The Woman At The Gate 1/13/2003
758. The Womb 1/13/2003
759. The Wonderer 1/13/2003
760. The Wood-Cutter 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

The Enigma

The Sergeant of a Highland Reg-
-Iment was drilling of his men;
With temper notably on edge
He blest them every now and then.
A sweet old lady standing by,
Was looking on with fascination,
And then she dared this question shy,
That pertubates the Celtic nation.

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