Robert Service Poems

  • 601.  
    Because I have no garden and
    No pence to buy,Before the flower shop I stand
  • 602.  
    “But it isn't playing the game,” he said,
    And he slammed his books away;“The Latin and Greek I've got in my head
  • 603.  
    A-sittin' in the Bull and Pump
    With double gins to keep us cheerySays she to me, says Polly Crump”
  • 604.  
    Smith, great writer of stories, drank; found it immortalized his pen;
    Fused in his brain-pan, else a blank, heavens of glory now and then;Gave him the magical genius touch; God-given power to gouge out, fling
  • 605.  
    Each sunny day upon my way
    A goat I pass;He has a beard of silver grey,
  • 606.  
    My Daddy used to wallop me for every small offense:
    “Its takes a hair-brush back,” said he, “to teach kids common-sense.”And still to-day I scarce can look a hair-brush in the face.
  • 607.  
    Now Eddie Malone got a swell grammyfone to draw all the trade to his store;
    An' sez he: “Come along for a season of song, which the like ye had niver before.”Then Dogrib, an' Slave, an' Yellow-knife brave, an' Cree in his dinky canoe,
  • 608.  
    I've wearied of so many things
    Adored in youthful days;Music no more my spirit wings,
  • 609.  
    “Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me?
    It fair maks me hamesick,” says Private McPhee.“And whit did she send ye?” says Private McPhun,
  • 610.  
    Throughout my life I see
    A guiding hand;The pitfalls set for me
  • 611.  
    There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
    She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.
  • 612.  
    In city shop a hat I saw
    That to my fancy seemed to strike,I gave my wage to buy the straw,
  • 613.  
    Moko, the Educated Ape is here,
    The pet of vaudeville, so the posters say, And every night the gaping people pay
  • 614.  
    “Tuberculosis should not be,”
    The old professor said.“If folks would hearken unto me
  • 615.  
    There where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon,
    There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon,And the glacier-glutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June.
  • 616.  
    The leaves are sick and jaundiced, they
    Drift down the air;December's sky is sodden grey,
  • 617.  
    You speak to me, but does your speech
    With truest truth your thought convey?I listen to your words and each
  • 618.  
    My boy's come back; he's here at last;
    He came home on a special train.My longing and my ache are past,
  • 619.  
    They say she speeded wanton wild
    When she was warm with wine;And so she killed a little child,
  • 620.  
    I never could imagine God:
    I don't suppose I ever will.Beside His altar fire I nod
  • 621.  
    Oh you who have daring deeds to tell!
    And you who have felt Ambition's spell!Have you heard of the louse who longed to dwell
  • 622.  

  • 623.  
    It's good the great green earth to roam,
    Where sights of awe the soul inspire;But oh, it's best, the coming home,
  • 624.  
    The Judge looked down, his face was grim,
    He scratched his ear;The gangster's moll looked up at him
  • 625.  
    The Junior God looked from his place
    In the conning towers of heaven,And he saw the world through the span of space
  • 626.  
    “Miss Rosemary,” I dourly said,
    “Our balance verges on the red,We must cut down our overhead.
  • 627.  
    The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
    Down valleys dreadly desolate;The lordly mountains soar in scorn
  • 628.  
    Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond,
    That dreams at the gates of the day?Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,
  • 629.  
    From wrath-red dawn to wrath-red dawn,
    The guns have brayed without abate;And now the sick sun looks upon
  • 630.  
    Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips,
    And the mouth so mocking gay,A wanton you to the finger-tips,
  • 631.  
    If we could roll back History
    A century, let's say,And start from there, I'm sure that we
  • 632.  
    This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:
    “Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane-Strong for the red rage of battle; sane for I harry them sore;
  • 633.  
    Having an aged hate of height
    I forced myself to climb the Tower,Yet paused at every second flight
  • 634.  
    I've learned-Of all the friends I've won
    Dame Nature is the best,And to her like a child I run
  • 635.  
    (The Dark Side)

  • 636.  
    When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town,
    An' he ain't got nothin' comin' an' he can't afford ter eat,An' he's in a fix for lodgin' an' he wanders up an' down,
  • 637.  
    (The French “Tommy”).

  • 638.  
    Since I have come to years sedate
    I see with more and more acumenThe bitter irony of Fate,
  • 639.  
    From out her shabby rain-coat pocket
    The little Jew girl in the trainProduced a dinted silver locket
  • 640.  
    In the moonless, misty night, with my little pipe alight,
    I am sitting by the camp-fire's fading cheer;Oh, the dew is falling chill on the dim, deer-haunted hill,
  • 641.  
    Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
    Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-by;
  • 642.  
    “And when I come to die,” he said,
    “Ye shall not lay me out in state,Nor leave your laurels at my head,
  • 643.  
    “Young fellow, listen to a friend:
    Beware of wedlock-'tis a gamble,It's MAN who holds the losing end
  • 644.  
    This is the pay-day up at the mines, when the bearded brutes come down;
    There's money to burn in the streets to-night, so I've sent my klooch to town,With a haggard face and a ribband of red entwined in her hair of brown.
  • 645.  
    Jack would laugh an' joke all day;
    Never saw a lad so gay;Singin' like a medder lark,
  • 646.  
    There's a cry from out the loneliness-oh, listen, Honey, listen!
    Do you hear it, do you fear it, you're a-holding of me so?You're a-sobbing in your sleep, dear, and your lashes, how they glisten-
  • 647.  
    Italian people peaceful are,-
    Let it be to their credit.They mostly fail to win a war,
  • 648.  
    Oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas nothing but the thrumming
    Of a wood-pecker a-rapping on the hollow of a tree;And she thought that I was fooling when I said it was the drumming
  • 649.  
    “You're bloody right-I was a Red,”
    The Man from Cook's morosely said.And if our chaps had won the War
  • 650.  
    He's the man from Eldorado, and he's just arrived in town,
    In moccasins and oily buckskin shirt.He's gaunt as any Indian, and pretty nigh as brown;
Total 831 poems written by Robert Service

Poem of the day

Two Songs For Solitude: The Solitary
 by Sara Teasdale

Let them think I love them more than I do,
Let them think I care, though I go alone,
If it lifts their pride, what is it to me
Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone?

It is one to me that they come or go
If I have myself and the drive of my will,
And strength to climb on a summer night

Read complete poem

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