Robert William Service
Robert William Service Poems
|162.||In Praise of Alcohol||6/7/2016|
|165.||The Missal Makers||1/13/2003|
|167.||The Pigeons Of St. Marks||1/13/2003|
|169.||The Last Supper||1/13/2003|
|172.||Room 7: The Coco-Fiend||1/13/2003|
|177.||The Old Armchair||1/13/2003|
|178.||The Law Of Laws||1/13/2003|
|181.||The Odyssey Of 'Erbert 'Iggins||1/13/2003|
|182.||The Telegraph Operator||1/13/2003|
|185.||The Low-Down White||1/13/2003|
|193.||The Song Of The Pacifist||1/13/2003|
|196.||The Black Sheep||1/13/2003|
|198.||The Old General||1/13/2003|
|199.||Reptiles And Roses||1/13/2003|
|200.||Learn To Like||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 ...
Lobster For Lunch
His face was like a lobster red,
His legs were white as mayonnaise:
"I've had a jolly lunch," he said,
That Englishman of pleasant ways.
"Thy do us well at our hotel:
In England food is dull these days."
"We had a big langouste for lunch.
I almost ate the whole of it.