#robert william service

[dabiconcordia]

Each Day a Life

I count each day a little life, With birth and death complete; I cloister it from care and strife And keep it sane and sweet. by Robert William Service

[canadachronicles]

"And when I come to the dim trail-end, I who have been Life's rover, This is all I would ask, my friend, Over and over and over: A little space on a stony hill With never another near me, Sky o' the North that's vast and still, With a single star to cheer me; Star that gleams on a moss-grey stone Graven by those who love me -- There would I lie alone, alone, With a single pine above me; Pine that the north wind whinneys through -- Oh, I have been Life's lover! But there I'd lie and listen to Eternity passing over."

--Heart O' The North, Robert William Service

I find this poem very moving; perhaps because I, too, am a Life's lover, and neither would I mind, when my time comes (a long, long, long time from now!), peace, quiet and solitude...

[willie-loomis-deserves-love]

I think the things I own and love Acquire a sense of me, That gives them value far above The worth that others see. My chattels are of me a part: This chair on which I sit Would break its overstuffed old heart If I made junk of it.

To humble needs with which I live, My books, my desk, my bed, A personality I give They'll lose when I am dead. Sometimes on entering my room They look at me with fear, As if they had a sense of doom Inevitably near.

Yet haply, since they do not die, In them will linger on Some of the spirit that was I, When I am gone. And maybe some sweet soul will sigh, And stroke with tender touch The things I loved, and even cry A little,--not too much.

My Room ~ Robert William Service

[dailythranduilproject]

“...Never was seen such an angel -- eyes of heavenly blue, Features that shamed Apollo, hair of a golden hue; The women simply adored him; his lips were like Cupid's bow; ...”   

                                                                   Robert William Service

Happy Thranduil Thursday!

[godzilla-reads]

“I like to think that when I fall,

A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea,

This shelf of books along the wall,

Beside my bed, will mourn for me.”

— Robert William Service, Ballads of a Bohemian

[universitybookstore]

GHOST POEM

I to a crumpled cabin came upon a hillside high, And with me was a withered dame As weariful as I. "It used to be our home," she said; "How well I remember well! Oh that our happy hearth should be Today an empty shell!" The door was flailing in the storm That deafed us with its din; The roof that kept us once so warm Now let the snow-drift in. The floor sagged to the sod below, The walls caved crazily; We only heard the wind of woe Where once was glow and glee. So there we stood disconsolate Beneath the Midnight Dome, And ancient miner and his mate, Before our wedded home, Where we had know such love and cheer . . . I sighed, then soft she said: "Do not regret - remember, dear, We, too, are dead." -- Robert William Service                      

[straycatreadsthat]

The Wanderlust has lured me to the seven lonely seas, Has dumped me on the tailing-piles of dearth; The Wanderlust has haled me from the morris chairs of ease, Has hurled me to the ends of all the earth. How bitterly I've cursed it, oh, the Painted Desert knows, The wraithlike heights that hug the pallid plain, The all-but-fluid silence, -- yet the longing grows and grows, And I've got to glut the Wanderlust again. Soldier, sailor, in what a plight I've been! Tinker, tailor, oh what a sight I've seen! And I'm hitting the trail in the morning, boys, And you won't see my heels for dust; For it's "all day" with you When you answer the cue Of the Wan-der-lust. The Wanderlust has got me . . . by the belly-aching fire, By the fever and the freezing and the pain; By the darkness that just drowns you, by the wail of home desire, I've tried to break the spell of it -- in vain. Life might have been a feast for me, now there are only crumbs; In rags and tatters, beggar-wise I sit; Yet there's no rest or peace for me, imperious it drums, The Wanderlust, and I must follow it. Highway, by-way, many a mile I've done; Rare way, fair way, many a height I've won; But I'm pulling my freight in the morning, boys, And it's over the hills or bust; For there's never a cure When you list to the lure Of the Wan-der-lust. The Wanderlust has taught me . . . it has whispered to my heart Things all you stay-at-homes will never know. The white man and the savage are but three short days apart, Three days of cursing, crawling, doubt and woe. Then it's down to chewing muclucs, to the water you can eat, To fish you bolt with nose held in your hand. When you get right down to cases, it's King's Grub that rules the races, And the Wanderlust will help you understand. Haunting, taunting, that is the spell of it; Mocking, baulking, that is the hell of it; But I'll shoulder my pack in the morning, boys, And I'm going because I must; For it's so-long to all When you answer the call Of the Wan-der-lust. The Wanderlust has blest me . . . in a ragged blanket curled, I've watched the gulf of Heaven foam with stars; I've walked with eyes wide open to the wonder of the world, I've seen God's flood of glory burst its bars. I've seen the gold a-blinding in the riffles of the sky, Till I fancied me a bloated plutocrat; But I'm freedom's happy bond-slave, and I will be till I die, And I've got to thank the Wanderlust for that. Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home. Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam? Oh, I'll beat it once more in the morning, boys, With a pinch of tea and a crust; For you cannot deny When you hark to the cry Of the Wan-der-lust. The Wanderlust will claim me at the finish for its own. I'll turn my back on men and face the Pole. Beyond the Arctic outposts I will venture all alone; Some Never-never Land will be my goal. Thank God! there's none will miss me, for I've been a bird of flight; And in my moccasins I'll take my call; For the Wanderlust has ruled me, And the Wanderlust has schooled me, And I'm ready for the darkest trail of all. Grim land, dim land, oh, how the vastness calls! Far land, star land, oh, how the stillness falls! For you never can tell if it's heaven or hell, And I'm taking the trail on trust; But I haven't a doubt That my soul will leap out On its Wan-der-lust.

Robert William Service, “The Wanderlust”

[canadachronicles]

"Let laureates sing with rapturous swing Of the wonder and glory of work; Let pulpiteers preach and with passion impeach The indolent wretches who shirk. No doubt they are right: in the stress of the fight It's the slackers who go to the wall; So though it's my shame I perversely proclaim It's fine to do nothing at all. It's fine to recline on the flat of one's spine, With never a thought in one's head: It's lovely to le staring up at the sky When others are earning their bread. It's great to feel one with the soil and the sun, Drowned deep in the grasses so tall; Oh it's noble to sweat, pounds and dollars to get, But; it's grand to do nothing at all. So sing to the praise of the fellows who laze Instead of lambasting the soil; The vagabonds gay who lounge by the way, Conscientious objectors to toil. But lest you should think, by this spatter of ink, The Muses still hold me in thrall, I'll round out my rhyme, and (until the next time) Work like hell; doing nothing at all."

--Laziness, Robert William Service

I am still jet-lagged, and I've caught a violent cold, returning from warmer climes; thus I can say, without any shame, I am thoroughly enjoying a little laziness!