Robert Service Poems

  • 651.  
    The Dreamer visioned Life as it might be,
    And from his dream forthright a picture grew,A painting all the people thronged to see,
  • 652.  
    The cruel war was over-oh, the triumph was so sweet!
    We watched the troops returning, through our tears;There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,
  • 653.  
    There's a race of men that don't fit in,
    A race that can't stay still;So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
  • 654.  
    To visit the Escurial
    We took a motor bus,And there a guide mercurial
  • 655.  
    Said he: “I'll dive deep in the Past,
    And write a book of direful daysWhen summer skies were overcast
  • 656.  
    When we might make with happy heart
    This world a paradise,With bombs we blast brave men apart,
  • 657.  
    There will be a singing in your heart,
    There will be a rapture in your eyes;You will be a woman set apart,
  • 658.  
    I know a mountain thrilling to the stars,
    Peerless and pure, and pinnacled with snow;Glimpsing the golden dawn o'er coral bars,
  • 659.  
    I look into the aching womb of night;
    I look across the mist that masks the dead;The moon is tired and gives but little light,
  • 660.  
    For supper we had curried tripe.
    I washed the dishes, wound the clock;Then for awhile I smoked my pipe-
  • 661.  
    On the ragged edge of the world I'll roam,
    And the home of the wolf shall be my home,And a bunch of bones on the boundless snows
  • 662.  
    Me and Ed and a stretcher
    Out on the nootral ground.(If there's one dead corpse, I'll betcher
  • 663.  
    Oh bear with me, for I am old
    And count on fingers fiveThe years this pencil I may hold
  • 664.  
    In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr
    Grandfather's father would repairWith Bobby Burns, a drouthy pair,
  • 665.  
    Little Annabelle to please,
    (Lacking grace, I grant),Grandpa down on hands and knees
  • 666.  
    If you and I should chance to meet,
    I guess you wouldn't care;I'm sure you'd pass me in the street
  • 667.  
    “Gather around me, children dear;
    The wind is high and the night is cold;Closer, little ones, snuggle near;
  • 668.  
    A wild and woeful race he ran
    Of lust and sin by land and sea;Until, abhorred of God and man,
  • 669.  
    Grimy men with picks and shovels
    Who in darkness sweat unseen,Climb from out your lousy hovels,
  • 670.  
    This is the song of the parson's son, as he squats in his shack alone,
    On the wild, weird nights, when the Northern Lights shoot up from the frozen zone,And it's sixty below, and couched in the snow the hungry huskies moan:
  • 671.  
    Sky's a-waxin' grey,
    Got to be a-goin';Gittin' on my way,
  • 672.  
    My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
    My den is all a cosy glow;And snug before the fire I sit,
  • 673.  
    A pencil, sir; a penny-won't you buy?
    I'm cold and wet and tired, a sorry plight;Don't turn your back, sir; take one just to try;
  • 674.  
    “Sow your wild oats in your youth,” so we're always told;
    But I say with deeper sooth: “Sow them when you're old.”I'll be wise till I'm about seventy or so:
  • 675.  
    Oh, have you forgotten those afternoons
    With riot of roses and amber skies,When we thrilled to the joy of a million Junes,
  • 676.  
    She was a Philistine spick and span,
    He was a bold Bohemian.She had the mode, and the last at that;
  • 677.  
    They say that Monte Carlo is
    A sunny place for shady people;But I'm not in the gambling biz,
  • 678.  
    Something's wrong in Pigeon-land;
    'Tisn't as it used to be,When the pilgrim, corn in hand,
  • 679.  
    We sleep in the sleep of ages, the bleak, barbarian pines;
    The gray moss drapes us like sages, and closer we lock our lines,And deeper we clutch through the gelid gloom where never a sunbeam shines.
  • 680.  
    The portrait there above my bed
    They tell me is a work of art;My Wife,-since twenty years she's dead:
  • 681.  
    He asked the lady in the train
    If he might smoke: she smiled consent.So lighting his cigar and fain
  • 682.  
    Upspoke the culprit at the bar,
    Conducting his own case:‘Your Lordship, I have gone to far,
  • 683.  
    I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
    A-purpose to revisit the old claim.I kept thinking mighty sadly of the funny ways of Fate,
  • 684.  
    I sought Him on the purple seas,
    I sought Him on the peaks aflame;Amid the gloom of giant trees
  • 685.  
    When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
    And Death looks you bang in the eye,And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
  • 686.  
    France is the fairest land on earth,
    Lovely to heart's desire,And twice a year I span its girth,
  • 687.  
    It's fine to have a blow-out in a fancy restaurant,
    With terrapin and canvas-back and all the wine you want;To enjoy the flowers and music, watch the pretty women pass,
  • 688.  
    Fearing that she might go one day
    With some fine fellow of her choice,I called her from her childish play,
  • 689.  
    Tramp, tramp, the grim road, the road from Mons to Wipers
    (I've ‘ammered out this ditty with me bruised and bleedin' feet);Tramp, tramp, the dim road-we didn't ‘ave no pipers,
  • 690.  
    To-day within a grog-shop near
    I saw a newly captured linnet,Who beat against his cage in fear,
  • 691.  
    They turned him loose; he bowed his head,
    A felon, bent and grey.His face was even as the Dead,
  • 692.  
    The same old sprint in the morning, boys, to the same old din and smut;
    Chained all day to the same old desk, down in the same old rut;Posting the same old greasy books, catching the same old train:
  • 693.  
    There's a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin,
    And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day;But I tracked it by the river, and I trailed it in the cover,
  • 694.  
    We couldn't sit and study for the law;
    The stagnation of a bank we couldn't stand;For our riot blood was surging, and we didn't need much urging
  • 695.  
    Alas! I see that thrushes three
    Are ravishing my old fig tree,In whose green shade I smoked my pipe
  • 696.  
    Oh, how good it is to be
    Foot-loose and heart-free!Just my dog and pipe and I, underneath the vast sky;
  • 697.  
    Twin boys I bore, my joy, my care,
    My hope, my life they were to me;Their father, dashing, debonair,
  • 698.  
    My Father Christmas passed away
    When I was barely seven.At twenty-one, alack-a-day,
  • 699.  
    I asked a silver sage
    With race nigh run:‘Tell me in old of age
  • 700.  
    When from my fumbling hand the tired pen falls,
    And in the twilight weary droops my head;While to my quiet heart a still voice calls,
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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