Robert William Service
Robert William Service Poems
|244.||The Blood-Red Fourragere||1/13/2003|
|245.||My Cancer Cure||1/13/2003|
|246.||The Heart Of The Sourdough||1/13/2003|
|248.||Missis Moriarty's Boy||1/13/2003|
|250.||My Cuckoo Clock||1/13/2003|
|257.||The Battle Of The Bulge||1/13/2003|
|266.||The Little Old Log Cabin||1/13/2003|
|270.||The Lone Trail||1/13/2003|
|272.||My Piney Wood||1/13/2003|
|273.||Why Do Birds Sing?||1/13/2003|
|275.||The Ballad Of Touch-The-Button Nell||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 ...
You Can'T Can Love
I don't know how the fishes feel, but I can't help thinking it odd,
That a gay young flapper of a female eel should fall in love with a cod.
Yet - that's exactly what she did and it only goes to prove,
That' what evr you do you can't put the lid on that crazy feeling Love.
Now that young tom-cod was a dreadful rake, and he had no wish to wed,
But he feared that her foolish heart would break, so this is what he said:
"Some fellows prize a woman's eyes, and some admire her lips,