Robert William Service
Robert William Service Poems
|162.||The Missal Makers||1/13/2003|
|166.||The Last Supper||1/13/2003|
|168.||The Pigeons Of St. Marks||1/13/2003|
|171.||The Song Of The Pacifist||1/13/2003|
|178.||The Black Sheep||1/13/2003|
|180.||The Old General||1/13/2003|
|182.||The Low-Down White||1/13/2003|
|189.||The Old Armchair||1/13/2003|
|190.||The Scribe's Prayer||1/13/2003|
|191.||The Law Of Laws||1/13/2003|
|194.||The Odyssey Of 'Erbert 'Iggins||1/13/2003|
|195.||The Telegraph Operator||1/13/2003|
|197.||Room 7: The Coco-Fiend||1/13/2003|
|199.||The Lost Master||1/13/2003|
|200.||The Ape And God||1/13/2003|
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 ...
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.