The Wistful One

I sought the trails of South and North,
I wandered East and West;
But pride and passion drove me forth
And would not let me rest.

And still I seek, as still I roam,
A snug roof overhead;
Four walls, my own; a quiet home. . . .
"You'll have it - when you're dead."

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

Old David Smail

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

Insomnia

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

The Haggis of Private McPhee

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

The Petit Vieux

Robert William Service, Simple Poetry

English

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The Wanderlust

    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 m...

Robert William Service

The Rover

    I

    Oh, how good it is to be
    Foot-loose and heart-free!
    Just my dog and pipe and I, underneath the vast sky;
    Trail to try and goal to win, white road and cool inn;
    Fields to lure a lad afar, clear spring and still star;
    Lilting feet that never tire, green dingle, fagot fire;
    None to hurry, none to hold, heather hill and hushed fold;
    Nature like a picture book, laughing leaf and bright brook;
    Every day a jewel bright, set serenely in the night;
    Every night a holy shrine, radiant for a day divine.

    Weathered cheek and kindly eye, let the wanderer go by.
    Woman-love and wistful heart, let the gipsy one depart.
    For the farness and the road are his glory and his goad.
    Oh, the lilt of youth and Spring! Eyes l...

Robert William Service

The Lone Trail

Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-bye;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.

The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;
And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,
And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the tongue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.

Robert William Service

Heart o' the North

    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.

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

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