Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

281. Munition Maker 1/13/2003
282. The Ballad Of Pious Pete 1/13/2003
283. The Sceptic 1/13/2003
284. The God Of Common-Sense 1/13/2003
285. Poet's Path 1/13/2003
286. Tri-Colour 1/13/2003
287. My Library 1/13/2003
288. Victory Stuff 1/13/2003
289. The Lure Of Little Voices 1/13/2003
290. Privacy 1/13/2003
291. Making Good 1/13/2003
292. The Nostomaniac 1/13/2003
293. O Lovely Lie 1/13/2003
294. What Kisses Had John Keats? 1/13/2003
295. Tourists 1/13/2003
296. The Legless Man 1/13/2003
297. Pantheist 1/13/2003
298. My Calendar 1/13/2003
299. My Masters 1/13/2003
300. The Bohemian 1/13/2003
301. Tea On The Lawn 1/13/2003
302. Nature's Way 1/13/2003
303. The Defeated 1/13/2003
304. Mc'Clusky's Nell 1/13/2003
305. Michael 1/13/2003
306. Pipe Smoker 1/13/2003
307. Joey 1/13/2003
308. The Mole 1/13/2003
309. My Hour 1/13/2003
310. Only A Boche 1/13/2003
311. Neighbours 1/13/2003
312. The Ballad Of Hard-Luck Henry 1/13/2003
313. Stamp Collector 1/13/2003
314. The Sewing-Girl 1/13/2003
315. The Ballad Of Hank The Finn 1/13/2003
316. The Quest 1/13/2003
317. My Masterpiece 1/13/2003
318. Stowaway 1/13/2003
319. The Song Of The Wage-Slave 1/13/2003
320. The Home-Coming 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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