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

Poem of the day

Blue And White
 by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

BLUE is Our Lady—s colour,
White is Our Lord—s.
To-morrow I will wear a knot
Of blue and white cords,
That you may see it, where you ride
Among the flashing swords.

O banner, white and sunny blue,

Read complete poem

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