Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

201. The Scribe's Prayer 1/13/2003
202. The Law Of Laws 1/13/2003
203. The Search 1/13/2003
204. The Contrast 1/13/2003
205. My Job 1/13/2003
206. Room 7: The Coco-Fiend 1/13/2003
207. The Portrait 1/13/2003
208. The Lost Master 1/13/2003
209. The Ape And God 1/13/2003
210. Last Look 1/13/2003
211. The Atavist 1/13/2003
212. The Living Dead 1/13/2003
213. Poor Cock Robin 1/13/2003
214. Wallflower 1/13/2003
215. Pedlar 1/13/2003
216. The Song Of The Mouth-Organ 1/13/2003
217. L'Escargot D'Or 1/13/2003
218. Prayer 1/13/2003
219. Spats 1/13/2003
220. The Gramaphone At Fond-Du-Lac 1/13/2003
221. Stupidity 1/13/2003
222. The Receptionist 1/13/2003
223. Little Puddleton 1/13/2003
224. Reptiles And Roses 1/13/2003
225. Learn To Like 1/13/2003
226. Treat 'Em Rough 1/13/2003
227. The Robbers 1/13/2003
228. Poor Poet 1/13/2003
229. Nature's Touch 1/13/2003
230. My Husbands 1/13/2003
231. The Pigeon Shooting 1/13/2003
232. The Mystery Of Mister Smith 1/13/2003
233. Quatrains 1/13/2003
234. The Hinterland 1/13/2003
235. Les Grands Mutiles 1/13/2003
236. Our Daily Bread 1/13/2003
237. The Revelation 1/13/2003
238. My Room 1/13/2003
239. The Convalescent 1/13/2003
240. My Hero 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

Wine Bibber

I would rather drink than eat,
And though I superbly sup,
Food, I feel, can never beat
Delectation of the cup.
Wine it is that crowns the feast;
Fish and fowl and fancy meat
Are of my delight the least:
I would rather drink than eat.

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