Robert Service Poems

  • 801.  
    As I was saying . . . (No, thank you; I never take cream with my tea;
    Cows weren't allowed in the trenches-got out of the habit, y'see.)As I was saying, our Colonel leaped up like a youngster of ten:
  • 802.  
    Out of the wood my White Knight came:
    His eyes were bright with a bitter flame,As I clung to his stirrup leather;
  • 803.  
    Because I was a woman lone
    And had of friends so few,I made two little ones my own,
  • 804.  
    Some carol of the banjo, to its measure keeping time;
    Of viol or of lute some make a song.My battered old accordion, you're worthy of a rhyme,
  • 805.  
    They dumped it on the lonely road,
    Then like a streak they sped;And as along the way I strode
  • 806.  
    I'm sitting by the fire tonight,
    The cat purrs on the rug;The room's abrim with rosy light,
  • 807.  
    Alas! I am only a rhymer,
    I don't know the meaning of Art;But I learned in my little school primer
  • 808.  
    Hark to the Sourdough story, told at sixty below,
    When the pipes are lit and we smoke and spitInto the campfire glow.
  • 809.  
    It isn't the foe that we fear;
    It isn't the bullets that whine;It isn't the business career
  • 810.  
    No, Bill, I'm not a-spooning out no patriotic tosh
    (The cove be'ind the sandbags ain't a death-or-glory cuss).And though I strafes 'em good and ‘ard I doesn't ‘ate the Boche,
  • 811.  
    Deeming that I were better dead,
    “How shall I kill myself?” I said.Thus mooning by the river Seine
  • 812.  
    Ho! we were strong, we were swift, we were brave.
    Youth was a challenge, and Life was a fight.All that was best in us gladly we gave,
  • 813.  
    Brave Thackeray has trolled of days when he was twenty-one,
    And bounded up five flights of stairs, a gallant garreteer;And yet again in mellow vein when youth was gaily run,
  • 814.  
    How grand the human race would be
    If every man would wear a kilt,A flirt of Tartan finery,
  • 815.  
    After working hard all day
    In the office,How much worse on homeward way
  • 816.  
    I ran a nail into my hand,
    The wound was hard to heal;So bitter was the pain to stand
  • 817.  
    There's sunshine in the heart of me,
    My blood sings in the breeze;The mountains are a part of me,
  • 818.  
    You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
    You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
  • 819.  
    Why need we newer arms invent,
    Poor peoples to destroy?With what we have let's be content
  • 820.  
    I'm just a mediocre man
    Of no high-brow pretence;A comfortable life I plan
  • 821.  
    I deem that there are lyric days
    So ripe with radiance and cheer,So rich with gratitude and praise
  • 822.  
    Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things-
    The song of birds, the rapture of the rose;Cloud-dappled skies, the laugh of limpid springs,
  • 823.  
    Three times I had the lust to kill,
    To clutch a throat so young and fair,And squeeze with all my might until
  • 824.  
    If starry space no limit knows
    And sun succeeds to sun,There is no reason to suppose
  • 825.  
    Clorinda met me on the way
    As I came from the train;Her face was anything but gay,
  • 826.  
    How often do I wish I were
    What people call a character;A ripe and cherubic old chappie
  • 827.  
    That boy I took in the car last night,
    With the body that awfully sagged away,And the lips blood-crisped, and the eyes flame-bright,
  • 828.  
    Aye, Montecelli, that's the name.
    You may have heard of him perhaps.Yet though he never savoured fame,
  • 829.  
    Folk ask if I'm alive,
    Most think I'm not;Yet gaily I contrive
  • 830.  
    This crowded life of God's good giving
    No man has relished more than I;I've been so goldarned busy living
  • 831.  
    ‘Why keep a cow when I can buy,'
    Said he, ‘the milk I need,'I wanted to spit in his eye
Total 831 poems written by Robert Service

Poem of the day

Charles Hamilton Sorley Poem
All The Hills And Vales Along
 by Charles Hamilton Sorley

All the hills and vales along
Earth is bursting into song,
And the singers are the chaps
Who are going to die perhaps.
O sing, marching men,
Till the valleys ring again.
Give your gladness to earth's keeping,
So be glad, when you are sleeping.

Read complete poem

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