Robert Service Poems

  • 301.  
    It's mighty quiet in the house
    Since Mary Ellen quit me cold;I've swept the hearth and fed the mouse
  • 302.  
    There once was a Square, such a square little Square,
    And he loved a trim Triangle;But she was a flirt and around her skirt
  • 303.  
    On this festive first of May,
    Wending wistfully my wayThree sad sights I saw today.
  • 304.  
    In London City I evade
    For charming Burlington Arcade-For thee in youth I met a maid
  • 305.  
    In Mike Maloney's Nugget bar the hooch was flowin' free,
    An' One-eyed Mike was shakin' dice wi' Montreal Maree,An roarin' rageful warning when the boys got overwild,
  • 306.  
    Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing;
    Islands of opal float on silver seas;Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing;
  • 307.  
    “There's something in your face, Michael, I've seen it all the day;
    There's something quare that wasn't there when first ye wint away. . . .”
  • 308.  
    My lead dog Mike was like a bear;
    I reckon he was grizzly bred,For when he reared up in the air
  • 309.  
    There's a drip of honeysuckle in the deep green lane;
    There's old Martin jogging homeward on his worn old wain;There are cherry petals falling, and a cuckoo calling, calling,
  • 310.  
    Each time that I switch on the light
    A Miracle it seems to meThat I should rediscover sight
  • 311.  
    Miss Don't-do-this and Don't-do-that
    Has such a sunny smileYou cannot help but chuckle at
  • 312.  
    Missis Moriarty called last week, and says she to me, says she:
    “Sure the heart of me's broken entirely now-it's the fortunate woman you are;You've still got your Dinnis to cheer up your home, but me Patsy boy where is he?
  • 313.  
    He was my one and only love;
    My world was mirror for his face.We were as close as hand and glove,
  • 314.  
    You've heard of Belching Billy, likewise known as Windy Bill,
    As punk a chunk of Yukon scum as ever robbed a sluice;A satellite of Soapy Smith, a capper and a shill,
  • 315.  
    A child saw in the morning skies
    The dissipated-looking moon,And opened wide her big blue eyes,
  • 316.  

  • 317.  
    Mud is Beauty in the making,
    Mud is melody awaking;Laughter, leafy whisperings,
  • 318.  
    I am the Cannon King, behold!
    I perish on a throne of gold.With forest far and turret high,
  • 319.  
    He was my best and oldest friend.
    I'd known him all my life.And yet I'm sure towards the end
  • 320.  
    O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon,
    And in the west, all tremulous, a star;And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune
  • 321.  
    A barefoot boy I went to school
    To save a cobbler's fee,For though the porridge pot was full
  • 322.  
    When first I left Blighty they gave me a bay'nit
    And told me it ‘ad to be smothered wiv gore;But blimey! I ‘aven't been able to stain it,
  • 323.  
    I never killed a bear because
    I always thought them critters was So kindo' cute;
  • 324.  
    Before I drink myself to death,
    God, let me finish up my Book!At night, I fear, I fight for breath,
  • 325.  
    My Boss keeps sporty girls, they say;
    His belly's big with cheer.He squanders in a single day
  • 326.  
    While I make rhymes my brother John
    Makes shiny shoes which dames try on,And finding to their fit and stance
  • 327.  
    From off my calendar today
    A leaf I tear;So swiftly passes smiling May
  • 328.  
    “A year to live,” the Doctor said;
    “There is no cure,” and shook his head.Ah me! I felt as good as dead.
  • 329.  
    A hundred years is a lot of living
    I've often thought. and I'll know, maybe,Some day if the gods are good in giving,
  • 330.  
    In idle dream with pipe in hand
    I looked across the Square,And saw the little chapel stand
  • 331.  
    When I was small the Lord appeared
    Unto my mental eyeA gentle giant with a beard
  • 332.  
    Deeming that I was due to die
    I framed myself a coffin;So full of graveyard zeal was I,
  • 333.  
    ‘Nay; I don't need a hearing aid'
    I told Mama-in-law;‘For if I had I'd be afraid
  • 334.  
    I wrote a poem to the moon
    But no one noticed it;Although I hoped that late or soon
  • 335.  
    I bought a cuckoo clock
    And glad was ITo hear its tick and tock,
  • 336.  
    Sitting in the dentist's chair,
    Wishing that I wasn't there,To forget and pass the time
  • 337.  
    'Twas in a pub just off the Strand
    When I was in my cups,There passed a bloke with in his hand
  • 338.  
    Each day when it's anighing three
    Old Dick looks at the clock,Then proudly brings my stick to me
  • 339.  
    Some poets sing of scenery;
    Some to fair maids make sonnets sweet.A fig for love and greenery,
  • 340.  
    Being a writer I receive
    Sweet screeds from folk of every land;Some are so weird you'd scarce believe,
  • 341.  
    I hate my neighbour Widow Green;
    I'd like to claw her face;But if I did she'd make a scene
  • 342.  
    A Belgian Priest-Soldier Speaks;

  • 343.  
    The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief;
    And I lay there in the bunk between, ailing beyond belief;A weary armful of skin and bone, wasted with pain and grief.
  • 344.  
    “Let's make him a sailor,” said Father,
    “And he will adventure the sea.”“A soldier,” said Mother, “is rather
  • 345.  
    The world is sadly sick, they say,
    And plagued by woe and pain.But look! How looms my garden gay,
  • 346.  
    Here is my Garret up five flights of stairs;
    Here's where I deal in dreams and ply in fancies,Here is the wonder-shop of all my wares,
  • 347.  
    When looking back I dimly see
    The trails my feet have trod,Some hand divine, it seems to me,
  • 348.  
    Of all the boys with whom I fought
    In Africa and Sicily,Bill was the bravest of the lot
  • 349.  
    I love the cheery bustle
    Of children round the house,The tidy maids a-hustle,
  • 350.  
    Day after day behold me plying
    My pen within an office drear;The dullest dog, till homeward hieing,
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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