Robert William Service

(16 January 1874 - 11 September 1958 / Preston)

Robert William Service Poems

1. Pilgrims 1/13/2003
2. The Argument 1/13/2003
3. The Healer 1/13/2003
4. Triumph 1/13/2003
5. Trixie 1/13/2003
6. Kings Must Die 1/13/2003
7. Victory Stuff 1/13/2003
8. My Favourite Fan 1/13/2003
9. Lucindy Jane 1/13/2003
10. Our Pote 1/13/2003
11. Pantheist 1/13/2003
12. The AlcÁZar 1/13/2003
13. Room 4: The Painter Chap 1/13/2003
14. Ripeness 1/13/2003
15. Room 5: The Concert Singer 1/13/2003
16. Portrait 1/13/2003
17. White-Collar Spaniard 1/13/2003
18. Village Don Juan 1/13/2003
19. Noctambule 1/13/2003
20. The Afflicted 1/13/2003
21. Reverence 1/13/2003
22. Old Trouper 1/13/2003
23. Priscilla 1/13/2003
24. My Masters 1/13/2003
25. Sympathy 1/13/2003
26. Miss Mischievous 1/13/2003
27. Tea On The Lawn 1/13/2003
28. Vanity 1/13/2003
29. Playboy 1/13/2003
30. Suppose? 1/13/2003
31. The Palace 1/13/2003
32. Surtax 1/13/2003
33. My Feud 1/13/2003
34. My Hundred Books 1/13/2003
35. The Key Of The Street 1/13/2003
36. Two Blind Men 1/13/2003
37. My Prisoner 1/13/2003
38. Julie Claire 1/13/2003
39. The Spirit Of The Unborn Babe 1/13/2003
40. Mactavish 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

The Enigma

The Sergeant of a Highland Reg-
-Iment was drilling of his men;
With temper notably on edge
He blest them every now and then.
A sweet old lady standing by,
Was looking on with fascination,
And then she dared this question shy,
That pertubates the Celtic nation.

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