Robert Service – His Cottage at Dawson

There are strange things done ‘neath the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen queer sights
But the queerest they ever did see,
Was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
When I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tenessee
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the south to roam
’round the poles, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell,
Though he’d often say in his homely way
That he’d sooner live in Hell.

One Response to Robert Service – His Cottage at Dawson

  1. Bob Burch (Artybee) July 20, 2006 at 4:17 pm #

    Hi Jo and Gareth -Remember me from wintry Wellington. Judith and I have followed your adventure from go to woe, and although envying you the experience, I think at my age (nearly 83) and only one “real” leg, I doubt I would be much good on a bike!!
    I was interested in your photo of Robert Service’s cabin in the woods. I have always enjoyed his poems since a young man, and at one stage of my life had copies of most , if not all of his published books. I may have sold some of them to a customer of Arty Bees Bookshop a few years ago (excuse the free plug).
    Trade continues to be quite buoyant, Gareth, and your staff seem to be coping without you reasonably well – but it will be good to hear soon of your safe return home.

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