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Rhymes of a Rolling Stone By: Robert W. Service (1874-1958) |
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by Robert W. Service [British born Canadian Poet 1874 1958.] Author of "The Spell of the Yukon", "Ballads of a Cheechako", etc.
1912 edition, 1917 printing [Some very minor changes have been made in spelling and punctuation
after consulting another edition.]
I have no doubt at all the Devil grins,
As seas of ink I spatter.
Ye gods, forgive my "literary" sins
The other kind don't matter. Contents Prelude
A Rolling Stone
The Soldier of Fortune
The Gramaphone at Fond Du Lac
The Land of Beyond
Sunshine
The Idealist
Athabaska Dick
Cheer
The Return
The Junior God
The Nostomaniac
Ambition
To Sunnydale
The Blind and the Dead
The Atavist
The Sceptic
The Rover
Barb Wire Bill
"?"
Just Think!
The Lunger
The Mountain and the Lake
The Headliner and the Breadliner
Death in the Arctic
Dreams Are Best
The Quitter
The Cow Juice Cure
While the Bannock Bakes
The Lost Master
Little Moccasins
The Wanderlust
The Trapper's Christmas Eve
The World's All Right
The Baldness of Chewed Ear
The Mother
The Dreamer
At Thirty Five
The Squaw Man
Home and Love
I'm Scared of it All
A Song of Success
The Song of the Camp Fire
Her Letter
The Man Who Knew
The Logger
The Passing of the Year
The Ghosts
Good Bye, Little Cabin
Heart o' the North
The Scribe's Prayer
RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE
Prelude I sing no idle songs of dalliance days,
No dreams Elysian inspire my rhyming;
I have no Celia to enchant my lays,
No pipes of Pan have set my heart to chiming.
I am no wordsmith dripping gems divine
Into the golden chalice of a sonnet;
If love songs witch you, close this book of mine,
Waste no time on it. Yet bring I to my work an eager joy,
A lusty love of life and all things human;
Still in me leaps the wonder of the boy,
A pride in man, a deathless faith in woman.
Still red blood calls, still rings the valiant fray;
Adventure beacons through the summer gloaming:
Oh long and long and long will be the day
Ere I come homing! This earth is ours to love: lute, brush and pen,
They are but tongues to tell of life sincerely;
The thaumaturgic Day, the might of men,
O God of Scribes, grant us to grave them clearly!
Grant heart that homes in heart, then all is well.
Honey is honey sweet, howe'er the hiving.
Each to his work, his wage at evening bell
The strength of striving.
A Rolling Stone There's sunshine in the heart of me,
My blood sings in the breeze;
The mountains are a part of me,
I'm fellow to the trees.
My golden youth I'm squandering,
Sun libertine am I;
A wandering, a wandering,
Until the day I die. I was once, I declare, a Stone Age man,
And I roomed in the cool of a cave;
I have known, I will swear, in a new life span,
The fret and the sweat of a slave:
For far over all that folks hold worth,
There lives and there leaps in me
A love of the lowly things of earth,
And a passion to be free. To pitch my tent with no prosy plan,
To range and to change at will;
To mock at the mastership of man,
To seek Adventure's thrill.
Carefree to be, as a bird that sings;
To go my own sweet way;
To reck not at all what may befall,
But to live and to love each day. To make my body a temple pure
Wherein I dwell serene;
To care for the things that shall endure,
The simple, sweet and clean... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Poetry |
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