Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

761. Adventure 1/13/2003
762. The Quitter 1/13/2003
763. Bill's Grave 1/13/2003
764. Accordion 1/13/2003
765. You And Me 1/13/2003
766. You Can'T Can Love 1/13/2003
767. Contentment 1/13/2003
768. Afternoon Tea 1/13/2003
769. Aspiration 1/13/2003
770. Barb-Wire Bill 1/13/2003
771. I Shall Not Burn 1/13/2003
772. Captivity 1/13/2003
773. Brother Jim 1/13/2003
774. The Passing Of The Year 1/13/2003
775. Awake To Smile 1/13/2003
776. Beachcomber 1/13/2003
777. Brave New World 1/13/2003
778. I Have Some Friends 1/13/2003
779. Canine Conversation 1/13/2003
780. Bird Sanctuary 1/13/2003
781. An Olive Fire 1/13/2003
782. Work And Joy 1/13/2003
783. Agnostic 1/13/2003
784. Birthday 1/13/2003
785. CafÉ Comedy 1/13/2003
786. Breath Is Enough 1/13/2003
787. Courage 1/13/2003
788. The Wanderlust 1/13/2003
789. Amateur Poet 1/13/2003
790. A Song Of The Sandbags 1/13/2003
791. A Song Of Winter Weather 1/13/2003
792. Adoption 1/13/2003
793. Book Lover 1/13/2003
794. A Sourdough Story 1/13/2003
795. Tipperary Days 1/13/2003
796. Agnostic Apology 1/13/2003
797. Young Fellow My Lad 1/13/2003
798. Bill The Bomber 1/13/2003
799. A Snifter 1/13/2003
800. Birthdays 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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