At The Parade
I cannot flap a flag
Or beat a drum;
Behind the mob I lag
With larynx dumb;
Alas! I fear I'm not
A Patriot.
With acrid eyes I see
The soul of things;
And equal unto me
Are cooks and kings;
I would not cross the street
A duke to meet.
Oh curse me for a fool
To be so proud;
To stand so still and cool
Amid the crowd.
For President or Peer
God, let me cheer!
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poem by Robert William Service
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The Aftermath
Although my blood I've shed
In war's red wrath,
Oh how I darkly dread
Its aftermath!
Oh how I fear the day
Of my release,
When I must face the fray
Of phoney peace!
When I must fend again
In labour strife;
And toil with sweat and strain
For kids and wife.
The world is so upset
I battled for,
That grimly I regret
The peace of war.
The wounds are hard to heal
Of shell and shard,
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poem by Robert William Service
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My Hundred Books
A thousand books my library
Contains;
And all are primed, it seems to me
With brains.
Mine are so few I scratch in thought
My head;
For just a hundred of the lot
I've read.
A hundred books, but of the best,
I can
With wisdom savour and digest
And scan.
Yet when afar from kin and kith
In nooks
Of quietness I'm happy with
Sweet books.
So as nine hundred at me stare
In vain,
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poem by Robert William Service
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Ommission
What man has not betrayed
Some sacred trust?
If haply you are made
Of honest dust,
Vaunt not of glory due,
Of triumph won:
Think, think of duties you
Have left undone.
But if in mercy hope,
Despite your sin,
The gates of Heaven ope'
To let you in:
Pray, pray that when God reads
Your judgement due,
He may forget good deeds
You did not do.
Ommission sins may be
The bitterest,
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poem by Robert William Service
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Second Childhood
Some deem I'm gentle, some I'm kind:
It may be so,--I cannot say.
I know I have a simple mind
And see things in a simple way;
And like a child I love to play.
I love to toy with pretty words
And syllable them into rhyme;
To make them sing like sunny birds
In happy droves with silver chime,
In dulcet groves in summer time.
I pray, with hair more white than grey,
And second childhood coming on,
That yet with wonderment I may
See life as in its lucent dawn,
And be by beauty so beguiled
I'll sing as sings a child.
poem by Robert William Service
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Eyrie
Between the mountain and the sea
I've made a happy landing;
And here a peace has come to me
That passeth understanding;
A shining faith and purity
Beyond demanding.
With palm below and pine above,
Where wings of gulls are gleaming;
By orange tree and olive grove,
From walls of airy seeming,
My roses beg me not to rove,
But linger dreaming.
So I'm in love with life again,
And would with joy dissever
My days from ways of worldly men,
And mingle with them never:
Let silken roses to my ken
Whisper forever.
poem by Robert William Service
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Einstein
A little mousey man he was
With board, and chalk in hand;
And millions were awestruck because
They couldn't understand.
Said he: 'E equals Mc2:
I'll prove it true.'
No doubt you can, your marvel man,
But will it serve our good?
Will it prolong our living span
And multiply our food?
Will it bring peace between the nations
To make equations?
Our thanks are due no doubt to you
For truth beyond our ken;
But after all what did you do
To ease the lot of men?
How can a thousand 'yous' be priced
Beside a Christ?
poem by Robert William Service
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The Sum-Up
It is not power and fame
That make success;
It is not rank or name
Rate happiness.
It is not honour due
Nor pile of pelf:
The pay-off is: Did you
Enjoy yourself?
A pal of days gone by
I reckon more
Of a success than I
Who've gold in store
His life, though none too long,
Was never dull:
Of woman, wine and song
Bill had his full.
Friend, you are a success
If you can say:
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poem by Robert William Service
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Unforgotten
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,
And oh, her eyes are heaven-lit with dream!
I know a garret, cold and dark and drear,
And one who toils and toils with tireless pen,
Until his brave, sad eyes grow weary -- then
He seeks the stars, pale, silent as a seer.
And ah, it's strange; for, desolate and dim,
Between these two there rolls an ocean wide;
Yet he is in the garden by her side
And she is in the garret there with him.
poem by Robert William Service
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Sailor's Sweetheart
He sleeps beside me in the bed;
Upon my breast I hold his head;
Oh how I would that we were wed,
For he sails in the morning.
I wish I had not been so kind;
But love is fain and passion blind,
While out of sight is out of mind,
And he ships in the morning.
I feel his bairn stir in my womb;
Poor wee one, born to bitter doom;
How dreary dark will be the gloom,
When he goes in the morning!
A sailor lad has need to court
A loving lass in every port;
To him it's just a bit of sport . . .
My heart-break's in the morning.
poem by Robert William Service
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