Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

161. The Hearth-Stone 1/13/2003
162. The Harpy 1/13/2003
163. The Missal Makers 1/13/2003
164. The Buyers 1/13/2003
165. The Old 1/13/2003
166. Teddy Bear 1/13/2003
167. The Last Supper 1/13/2003
168. The Seance 1/13/2003
169. The Pigeons Of St. Marks 1/13/2003
170. The Judgement 1/13/2003
171. Property 1/13/2003
172. The Song Of The Pacifist 1/13/2003
173. Relativity 1/13/2003
174. Why? 1/13/2003
175. My Bay'Nit 1/13/2003
176. Pooch 1/13/2003
177. Leaves 1/13/2003
178. The Black Sheep 1/13/2003
179. Tranquilism 1/13/2003
180. My Bear 1/13/2003
181. The Seed 1/13/2003
182. My Garden 1/13/2003
183. Kathleen 1/13/2003
184. The Decision 1/13/2003
185. The Low-Down White 1/13/2003
186. The Contrast 1/13/2003
187. My Job 1/13/2003
188. Room 7: The Coco-Fiend 1/13/2003
189. The Portrait 1/13/2003
190. Joey 1/13/2003
191. The Mole 1/13/2003
192. My Hour 1/13/2003
193. The Old Armchair 1/13/2003
194. The Scribe's Prayer 1/13/2003
195. The Law Of Laws 1/13/2003
196. The Search 1/13/2003
197. Mary Ellen 1/13/2003
198. Romance 1/13/2003
199. The Odyssey Of 'Erbert 'Iggins 1/13/2003
200. The Telegraph Operator 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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