The Land God Forgot

    The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
    Down valleys dreadly desolate;
    The lordly mountains soar in scorn
    As still as death, as stern as fate.

        The lonely sunsets flame and die;
            The giant valleys gulp the night;
        The monster mountains scrape the sky,
            Where eager stars are diamond-bright.

    So gaunt against the gibbous moon,
    Piercing the silence velvet-piled,
    A lone wolf howls his ancient rune -
    The fell arch-spirit of the Wild.

        O outcast land! O leper land!
            Let the lone wolf-cry all express
        The hate insensate of thy hand,
            Thy heart's abysmal loneliness.

Robert William Service

Robert William Service was a British-Canadian poet and writer, often referred to as 'the Bard of the Yukon.' He is best known for his poems about the Canadian North, particularly the Yukon Territory. Service's works include 'The Shooting of Dan McGrew' and 'The Cremation of Sam McGee,' which have contributed significantly to Canadian literature. His vivid and robust storytelling style, often dramatic and humorous, captivated audiences and made him a prominent literary figure of his time.

Robert William Service

The March Of The Dead

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

Gods in the Gutter

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

The Prospector

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

At Thirty-Five

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

English

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To C. M.

The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
Down valleys dreadly desolate;
The lordly mountains soar in scorn,
As still as death, as stern as fate.

The lonely sunsets flame and die;
The giant valleys gulp the night;
The monster mountains scrape the sky,
Where eager stars are diamond-bright.

So gaunt against the gibbous moon,
Piercing the silence velvet-piled,
A lone wolf howls his ancient rune,
The fell arch-spirit of the Wild.

O outcast land! O leper land!
Let the lone wolf-cry all express -
The hate insensate of thy hand,
Thy heart's abysmal loneliness.

Robert William Service

The Heart Of The Sourdough

There where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon;
There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon,
And the glacier-gutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June:

There where the livid tundras keep their tryst with the tranquil snows;
There where the Silences are spawned, and the light of hell-fire flows
Into the bowl of the midnight sky, violet, amber, and rose:

There where the rapids churn and roar, and the ice-floes bellowing run;
Where the tortured, twisted rivers of blood rush to the setting sun -
I've packed my kit and I'm going, boys, ere another day is done.

*    *    *    *    *

I knew it would call, or soon or late, as it calls the whirring wings;
It's the olden lure, it's the golden lure, it's the lure of t...

Robert William Service

The Wood-Cutter

The sky is like an envelope,
    One of those blue official things;
And, sealing it, to mock our hope,
    The moon, a silver wafer, clings.
What shall we find when death gives leave
To read - our sentence or reprieve?

I'm holding it down on God's scrap-pile, up on the fag-end of earth;
O'er me a menace of mountains, a river that grits at my feet;
Face to face with my soul-self, weighing my life at its worth;
Wondering what I was made for, here in my last retreat.

Last! Ah, yes, it's the finish. Have ever you heard a man cry?
(Sobs that rake him and rend him, right from the base of the chest.)
That's how I've cried, oh, so often; and now that my tears are dry,
I sit in the desolate quiet and wait for the infinite Rest.

Rest! Well, it's restful a...

Robert William Service

Men of the High North

Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing;
Islands of opal float on silver seas;
Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing;
Pale ports of amber, golden argosies.
Ringed all around us the proud peaks are glowing;
Fierce chiefs in council, their wigwam the sky;
Far, far below us the big Yukon flowing,
Like threaded quicksilver, gleams to the eye.

Men of the High North, you who have known it;
You in whose hearts its splendors have abode;
Can you renounce it, can you disown it?
Can you forget it, its glory and its goad?
Where is the hardship, where is the pain of it?
Lost in the limbo of things you've forgot;
Only remain the guerdon and gain of it;
Zest of the foray, and God, how you fought!

You who have made good, you foreign faring;
You mon...

Robert William Service

The Atavist

    What are you doing here, Tom Thorne, on the white top-knot o' the world,
    Where the wind has the cut of a naked knife and the stars are rapier keen?
    Hugging a smudgy willow fire, deep in a lynx robe curled,
    You that's a lord's own son, Tom Thorne - what does your madness mean?

    Go home, go home to your clubs, Tom Thorne! home to your evening dress!
    Home to your place of power and pride, and the feast that waits for you!
    Why do you linger all alone in the splendid emptiness,
    Scouring the Land of the Little Sticks on the trail of the caribou?

    Why did you fall off the Earth, Tom Thorne, out of our social ken?
    What did your deep damnation prove? What was your dark despair?
    Oh with the width of a world between, and years to the count of ten,...

Robert William Service

The Land of Beyond

    Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond,
    That dreams at the gates of the day?
    Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies,
    And ever so far away;
    Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls,
    And ye of the trail overfond,
    With saddle and pack, by paddle and track,
    Let's go to the Land of Beyond!

    Have ever you stood where the silences brood,
    And vast the horizons begin,
    At the dawn of the day to behold far away
    The goal you would strive for and win?
    Yet ah! in the night when you gain to the height,
    With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned,
    Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream,
    Still mocks you a Land of Beyond.

    Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond
    For us who are true t...

Robert William Service