Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

321. Mud 1/13/2003
322. Munition Maker 1/13/2003
323. Murderers 1/13/2003
324. Music In The Bush 1/13/2003
325. My Ancestors 1/13/2003
326. My Bay'Nit 1/13/2003
327. My Bear 1/13/2003
328. My Book 1/13/2003
329. My Boss 1/13/2003
330. My Brothers 1/13/2003
331. My Calendar 1/13/2003
332. My Cancer Cure 1/13/2003
333. My Centenarian 1/13/2003
334. My Chapel 1/13/2003
335. My Childhood God 1/13/2003
336. My Coffin 1/13/2003
337. My Consolation 1/13/2003
338. My Cross 1/13/2003
339. My Cuckoo Clock 1/13/2003
340. My Dentist 1/13/2003
341. My Dog 1/13/2003
342. My Dog's My Boss 1/13/2003
343. My Favoured Fare 1/13/2003
344. My Favourite Fan 1/13/2003
345. My Feud 1/13/2003
346. My Foe 1/13/2003
347. My Friends 1/13/2003
348. My Future 1/13/2003
349. My Garden 1/13/2003
350. My Garret 1/13/2003
351. My Guardian Angel 1/13/2003
352. My Hero 1/13/2003
353. My Holiday 1/13/2003
354. My Hour 1/13/2003
355. My House 1/13/2003
356. My Hundred Books 1/13/2003
357. My Husbands 1/13/2003
358. My Husky Team 1/13/2003
359. My Indian Summer 1/13/2003
360. My Inner Life 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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