Poet Robert Service

Robert Service

Robert Service Poems

  • 751.  
    The sheep are in the silver wood,
    The cows are in the broom;The goats are in the wild mountain
  • 752.  
    I sought the trails of South and North,
    I wandered East and West;But pride and passion drove me forth
  • 753.  
    An angel was tired of heaven, as he lounged in the golden street;
    His halo was tilted sideways, and his harp lay mute at his feet;So the Master stooped in His pity, and gave him a pass to go,
  • 754.  
    “Where is your little boy to-day?”
    I asked her at the gate.“I used to see him at his play,
  • 755.  
    Up from the evil day
    Of wattle and of woad,Along man's weary way
  • 756.  
    I wish that I could understand
    The moving marvel of my Hand;I watch my fingers turn and twist,
  • 757.  
    The sky is like an envelope,
    One of those blue official things; And, sealing it, to mock our hope,
  • 758.  
    Be honest, kindly, simple, true;
    Seek good in all, scorn but pretence;Whatever sorrow come to you,
  • 759.  
    If you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land,
    Where all except the flag is strange and new,There's a bronzed and stalwart fellow who will grip you by the hand,
  • 760.  
    He burned a hole in frozen muck,
    He pierced the icy mould,And there in six-foot dirt he struck
  • 761.  
    Said Jones: “I'm glad my wife's not clever;
    Her intellect is second-rate.If she was witty she would never
  • 762.  
    Tick-tocking in my ear
    My dollar clock I hear.‘Arise,' it seems to say:
  • 763.  
    My brother Tim has children ten,
    While I have none.Maybe that's why he's toiling when
  • 764.  
    Oh, weren't they the fine boys! You never saw the beat of them,
    Singing all together with their throats bronze-bare;Fighting-fit and mirth-mad, music in the feet of them,
  • 765.  
    Although I have a car of class,
    A limousine,I also have a jenny ass
  • 766.  
    On the tide you ride head high,
    Like a whale 'mid little fishes;I should envy you as I
  • 767.  
    Since much has been your mirth
    And fair your fate,Friend, leave your lot of earth
  • 768.  
    Since four decades you've been to me
    Both Guide and Friend,I fondly hope you'll always be,
  • 769.  
    There lies the trail to Sunnydale,
    Amid the lure of laughter.Oh, how can we unhappy be
  • 770.  
    My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
    I've drifted, silver-sailed, on seas of dream,Hearing afar the bells of Elfland chiming,
  • 771.  
    While I am emulating Keats
    My brother fabrics toilet seats,The which, they say, are works of art,
  • 772.  
    Three widows of the Middle West
    We're grimly chewing gum;The Lido chef a quail had dressed
  • 773.  
    That Tom was poor was sure a pity,
    Such guts for learning had the lad;He took to Greek like babe to titty,
  • 774.  
    An Englishman was Thomas Paine
    Who bled for liberty;But while his fight was far from vain
  • 775.  
    To Italy a random tour
    I took to crown my education,Returning relatively poor
  • 776.  
    In a strange town in a far land
    They met amid a throng;They stared, they could not understand
  • 777.  
    I call myself a Tranquilist;
    With deep detachment I exist, From friction free;
  • 778.  
    This morning on my pensive walk
    I saw a fisher on a rock,Who watched his ruby float careen
  • 779.  
    First time I dared propose,
    A callow lad was I;I donned my Sunday clothes,
  • 780.  
    Pines against the sky,
    Pluming the purple hill;Pines . . . and I wonder why,
  • 781.  
    Poppies, you try to tell me, glowing there in the wheat;
    Poppies! Ah no! You mock me: It's blood, I tell you, it's blood.It's gleaming wet in the grasses; it's glist'ning warm in the wheat;
  • 782.  
    Why am I full of joy although
    It drizzles on the links?Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot,
  • 783.  
    Dogs have a sense beyond our ken-
    At least my little Trixie had:Tail-wagging when I laughed, and when
  • 784.  
    Two blind men met. Said one: “This earth
    Has been a blackout from my birth.Through darkness I have groped my way,
  • 785.  
    Give me your hand, oh little one!
    Like children be we two;Yet I am old, my day is done
  • 786.  
    First Ghost

  • 787.  
    Unpenitent, I grieve to state,
    Two good men stood by heaven's gate,Saint Peter coming to await.
  • 788.  
    In the Northland there were three
    Pukka Pliers of the pen;Two of them had Fame in fee
  • 789.  
    ‘God' is composed of letters three,
    But if you put an ‘l'Before the last it seems to me
  • 790.  
    I know a garden where the lilies gleam,
    And one who lingers in the sunshine there; She is than white-stoled lily far more fair,
  • 791.  
    Though Virtue hurt you Vice is nice;
    Aye, Parson says it's wrong,Yet for my pleasing I'll suffice
  • 792.  
    To have a business of my own
    With toil and tears,I wore my fingers to the bone
  • 793.  
    My tangoing seemed to delight her;
    With me it was love at first sight.I mentioned That I was a writer:
  • 794.  
    What d'ye think, lad; what d'ye think,
    As the roaring crowds go by?As the banners flare and the brasses blare
  • 795.  
    Lord, I'm grey, my face is run,
    But by old Harry, I've had my fun;And all about, I seem to see
  • 796.  
    Jenny was my first sweetheart;
    Poor lass! she was none too smart.Though I swore she'd never rue it,
  • 797.  
    You've heard of Violet de Vere, strip-teaser of renown,
    Whose sitting-base out-faired the face of any girl in town;Well, she was haled before the Bench for breachin' of the Peace,
  • 798.  
    My mother she had children five and four are dead and gone;
    While I, least worthy to survive, persist in living on.She looks at me, I must confess, sometimes with spite and bitterness.
  • 799.  
    Because my eyes were none to bright
    Strong spectacles I bought,And lo! there sprang into my sight
  • 800.  
    Till midnight her needle she plied
    To finish her pretty pink dress;“Oh, bless you, my darling,” she sighed;
Total 831 poems written by Robert Service

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Sir Philip Sidney Poem
Thou Blind Man's Mark
 by Sir Philip Sidney

Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self chosen snare,
Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scatter'd thought,
Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care,
Thou web of will,whose end is never wrought.

Desire, desire I have too dearly bought,
With price of mangled mind thy worthless ware,
Too long, too long asleep thou hast me brought,
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