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A Rolling Stone Analysis



Author: poem of Robert Service Type: poem Views: 2

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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.

To oust out envy and hate and rage,

     To breathe with no alarm;

For Nature shall be my anchorage,

     And none shall do me harm.



To shun all lures that debauch the soul,

     The orgied rites of the rich;

To eat my crust as a rover must

     With the rough-neck down in the ditch.

To trudge by his side whate'er betide;

     To share his fire at night;

To call him friend to the long trail-end,

     And to read his heart aright.



To scorn all strife, and to view all life

     With the curious eyes of a child;

From the plangent sea to the prairie,

     From the slum to the heart of the Wild.

From the red-rimmed star to the speck of sand,

     From the vast to the greatly small;

For I know that the whole for good is planned,

     And I want to see it all.



To see it all, the wide world-way,

     From the fig-leaf belt to the Pole;

With never a one to say me nay,

     And none to cramp my soul.

In belly-pinch I will pay the price,

     But God! let me be free;

For once I know in the long ago,

     They made a slave of me.



In a flannel shirt from earth's clean dirt,

     Here, pal, is my calloused hand!

Oh, I love each day as a rover may,

     Nor seek to understand.

To enjoy is good enough for me;

     The gipsy of God am I;

Then here's a hail to each flaring dawn!

And here's a cheer to the night that's gone!

And may I go a-roaming on

     Until the day I die!



Then every star shall sing to me

Its song of liberty;

And every morn shall bring to me

Its mandate to be free.

In every throbbing vein of me

I'll feel the vast Earth-call;

O body, heart and brain of me

Praise Him who made it all!







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