Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

241. I Shall Not Burn 1/13/2003
242. I Will Not Fight 1/13/2003
243. If You Had A Friend 1/13/2003
244. Ignorance 1/13/2003
245. I'M Scared Of It All 1/13/2003
246. Imagination 1/13/2003
247. Immortality 1/13/2003
248. In Praise of Alcohol 6/7/2016
249. Include Me Out 1/13/2003
250. Indifference 1/13/2003
251. Infidelity 1/13/2003
252. Infirmities 1/13/2003
253. Innocence 1/13/2003
254. Insomnia 1/13/2003
255. Inspiration 1/13/2003
256. Intolerance 1/13/2003
257. It Is Later Than You Think 1/13/2003
258. Jaloppy Joy 1/13/2003
259. Jane 1/13/2003
260. Jean Desprez 1/13/2003
261. Jim 1/13/2003
262. Jobson Of The Star 1/13/2003
263. Joey 1/13/2003
264. Julie Claire 1/13/2003
265. Julot The Apache 1/13/2003
266. Just Think! 1/13/2003
267. Kail Yard Bard 1/13/2003
268. Kathleen 1/13/2003
269. Katie Drummond 1/13/2003
270. Kelly Of The Legion 1/13/2003
271. Kings Must Die 1/13/2003
272. Kittens 1/13/2003
273. Land Mine 1/13/2003
274. Last Look 1/13/2003
275. Laughter 1/13/2003
276. Laziness 1/13/2003
277. Learn To Like 1/13/2003
278. Leaves 1/13/2003
279. L'Envoi 1/13/2003
280. Les Grands Mutiles 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

Wistful

Oh how I'd be gay and glad
If a little house I had,
Snuggled in a shady lot,
With behind a garden plot;
Simple grub, old duds to wear,
A book, a pipe, a rocking-chair . . .
You would never hear me grouse
If I had a little house.

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