Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

761. The Wonderer 1/13/2003
762. The Wood-Cutter 1/13/2003
763. The World's All Right 1/13/2003
764. The Younger Son 1/13/2003
765. The Yukoner 1/13/2003
766. Three Wives 1/13/2003
767. Tick-Tock 1/13/2003
768. Tim 1/13/2003
769. Tipperary Days 1/13/2003
770. Titine 1/13/2003
771. To A Stuffed Shirt 1/13/2003
772. To A Tycoon 1/13/2003
773. To Frank Dodd 1/13/2003
774. To Sunnydale 1/13/2003
775. To The Man Of The High North 1/13/2003
776. Toilet Seats 1/13/2003
777. Toledo 1/13/2003
778. Tom 1/13/2003
779. Tom Paine 1/13/2003
780. Tourist 1/13/2003
781. Tourists 1/13/2003
782. Tranquilism 1/13/2003
783. Tranquillity 1/13/2003
784. Treat 'Em Rough 1/13/2003
785. Trees Against The Sky 1/13/2003
786. Tri-Colour 1/13/2003
787. Triumph 1/13/2003
788. Trixie 1/13/2003
789. Two Blind Men 1/13/2003
790. Two Children 1/13/2003
791. Two Graves 1/13/2003
792. Two Husbands 1/13/2003
793. Two Men (J. L. And R. B.) 1/13/2003
794. Two Words 1/13/2003
795. Unforgotten 1/13/2003
796. Unholy Trinity 1/13/2003
797. Vain Venture 1/13/2003
798. Vanity 1/13/2003
799. Victory Stuff 1/13/2003
800. Village Don Juan 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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