Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

1. Pilgrims 1/13/2003
2. The Argument 1/13/2003
3. The Healer 1/13/2003
4. Trixie 1/13/2003
5. Kings Must Die 1/13/2003
6. Rhyme-Smith 1/13/2003
7. Lowly Laureate 1/13/2003
8. My Favourite Fan 1/13/2003
9. Lucindy Jane 1/13/2003
10. Our Pote 1/13/2003
11. The AlcÁZar 1/13/2003
12. Room 4: The Painter Chap 1/13/2003
13. Ripeness 1/13/2003
14. Room 5: The Concert Singer 1/13/2003
15. Portrait 1/13/2003
16. White-Collar Spaniard 1/13/2003
17. Village Don Juan 1/13/2003
18. Noctambule 1/13/2003
19. Kail Yard Bard 1/13/2003
20. The Afflicted 1/13/2003
21. Reverence 1/13/2003
22. Old Trouper 1/13/2003
23. The Host 1/13/2003
24. Priscilla 1/13/2003
25. My Masters 1/13/2003
26. Sympathy 1/13/2003
27. Vanity 1/13/2003
28. Playboy 1/13/2003
29. Suppose? 1/13/2003
30. The Little Piou-Piou 1/13/2003
31. The Macaronis 1/13/2003
32. My Feud 1/13/2003
33. My Hundred Books 1/13/2003
34. The Fool 1/13/2003
35. The Key Of The Street 1/13/2003
36. The Idealist 1/13/2003
37. My Prisoner 1/13/2003
38. Julie Claire 1/13/2003
39. The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe 1/13/2003
40. Mactavish 1/13/2003

Comments about Robert William Service

  • Leonard Gill (3/18/2018 5:43:00 PM)

    Looking for a poem by Robert Service that Begins 'There were two artists A & B

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  • Ronald G. Wheeler (2/2/2018 10:03:00 AM)

    Wrote over 800 poems, surely more than any other poet. My favorites: 'Cocotte' and 'Little moccasins.'

  • Rebel... (1/12/2018 2:46:00 AM)

    Few People ever said things better.

  • Rebel (1/12/2018 2:44:00 AM)

    Terri. Your poem is... The Ballad Of Blasphemous Bill by Robert William Service

  • Terri (1/3/2018 11:51:00 AM)

    I am looking for the poem where the guy found his dead friend and he had to cut him to put him in the box he brought for him.

  • Bob Dougherty (4/9/2017 8:35:00 PM)

    One cannot compare Service and Wordsworth. Neither could have written the other's works. We should praise both. Service's poems are incredibly imaginative narrative works that captivate all but the dull. His directness is a poetic marvel too admire. When I first read the Shooting of D.... I was hooked.

  • Albert Short (7/24/2016 3:55:00 PM)

    Mr Baneville would rather read pages and pages of explanations of a poets work explaining what he was trying to say when you know exactly what Mr Service is saying immediately. By the way Robert W Service has sold many more books of poetry than Wordsworth.So evidently somebody likes him. But Service was a modest man and when he was being lauded he said oh don't put me up there with the big boys just call me rhymer. And what a rhymer he was.

  • Poetic Breath Poetic Breath (7/22/2016 8:20:00 AM)

    I love to read poems by this poet

  • James Banville (8/15/2015 6:11:00 AM)

    Rubbish. How can anyone but a moron take this drivel seriously? Wordsworth must be spinning in his grave.

  • Rich Persoff (1/22/2014 6:46:00 PM)

    Interestingly enough, the ugly American was an unhandsome person who (as I remember from having read the book more than 40 years ago) was a particularly nice guy and did a lot for the local people. Unfortunate but understandable, that his nickname has become an epithet for the kind of person Mag describes, but whom he most decidedly was not!

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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