Age poems
/ page 130 of 145 /
Breton Wife
© Robert William Service
A Wintertide we had been wed
When Jan went off to sea;
And now the laurel rose is red
And I wait on the quay.
His berthing boat I watch with dread,
For where, oh where is he?
Grand-Pa's Whim
© Robert William Service
While for me gapes the greedy grave
It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
To paint our fence.
Dram-Shop Ditty
© Robert William Service
I drink my fill of foamy ale
I sing a song, I tell a tale,
I play the fiddle;
My throat is chronically dry,
Yet savant of a sort am I,
And Life's my riddle.
Jobson Of The Star
© Robert William Service
Within a pub that's off the Strand and handy to the bar,
With pipe in mouth and mug in hand sat Jobson of the Star.
"Come, sit ye down, ye wond'ring wight, and have a yarn," says he.
"I can't," says I, "because to-night I'm off to Tripoli;
The Song Of The Camp-Fire
© Robert William Service
Gather round me, boy and grey-beard, frontiersman of every kind.
Few are you, and far and lonely, yet an army forms behind:
By your camp-fires shall they know you, ashes scattered to the wind.
Susie
© Robert William Service
My daughter Susie, aged two,
Apes me in every way,
For as my household chores I do
With brooms she loves to play.
Strip Teaser
© Robert William Service
My precious grand-child, aged two,
Is eager to unlace one shoe,
And then the other;
Her cotton socks she'll deftly doff
Despite the mild reproaches of
Her mother.
The Other One
© Robert William Service
"Gather around me, children dear;
The wind is high and the night is cold;
Closer, little ones, snuggle near;
Let's seek a story of ages old;
Negress In Notre Dame
© Robert William Service
The aged Queen who passed away
Had sixty servants, so they say;
Twice sixty hands her shoes to tie:
Two soapy ones have I.
Sailor Son
© Robert William Service
When you come home I'll not be round
To welcome you.
They'll take you to a grassy mound
So neat and new;
Where I'll be sleeping--O so sound!
The ages through.
The Ballad Of The Leather Medal
© Robert William Service
Only a Leather Medal, hanging there on the wall,
Dingy and frayed and faded, dusty and worn and old;
Yet of my humble treasures I value it most of all,
And I wouldn't part with that medal if you gave me its weight in gold.
Pullman Porter
© Robert William Service
The porter in the Pullman car
Was charming, as they sometimes are.
He scanned my baggage tags: "Are you
The man who wrote of Lady Lou?"
Moon-Lover
© Robert William Service
The Moon is like a ping-pong ball;
I lean against the orchard wall,
And see it soar into the void,
A silky sphere of celluloid.
The Passing Of The Year
© Robert William Service
My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
My den is all a cosy glow;
And snug before the fire I sit,
And wait to feel the old year go.
Spanish Men
© Robert William Service
The Men of Seville are, they say,
The laziest of Spain.
Consummate artists in delay,
Allergical to strain;
The Leaning Tower
© Robert William Service
Having an aged hate of height
I forced myself to climb the Tower,
Yet paused at every second flight
Because my heart is scant of power;
Then when I gained the sloping summit
Earthward I stared, straight as a plummet.
Eighty Not Out
© Robert William Service
In the gay, gleamy morn I adore to go walking,
And oh what sweet people I meet on my way!
I hail them with joy for I love to be talking,
Although I have nothing important to say.
Innocence
© Robert William Service
The height of wisdom seems to me
That of a child;
So let my ageing vision be
Serene and mild.
My Library
© Robert William Service
Like prim Professor of a College
I primed my shelves with books of knowledge;
And now I stand before them dumb,
Just like a child that sucks its thumb,
And stares forlorn and turns away,
With dolls or painted bricks to play.
Rhyme Builder
© Robert William Service
I envy not those gay galoots
Who count on dying in their boots;
For that, to tell the sober truth
Sould be the privilege of youth;
But aged bones are better sped
To heaven from a downy bed.
