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Best Famous Roster Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Roster poems. This is a select list of the best famous Roster poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Roster poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of roster poems.

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Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Birthdays

 Let us have birthdays every day,
(I had the thought while I was shaving)
Because a birthday should be gay,
And full of grace and good behaving.
We can't have cakes and candles bright, And presents are beyond our giving, But let lt us cherish with delight The birthday way of lovely living.
For I have passed three-score and ten And I can count upon my fingers The years I hope to bide with men, (Though by God's grace one often lingers.
) So in the summers left to me, Because I'm blest beyond my merit, I hope with gratitude and glee To sparkle with the birthday spirit.
Let me inform myself each day Who's proudmost on the natal roster; If Washington or Henry Clay, Or Eugene Field or Stephen Foster.
oh lots of famous folks I'll find Who more than measure to my rating, And so thanksgivingly inclined Their birthdays I'll be celebrating.
For Oh I know the cheery glow| Of Anniversary rejoicing; Let me reflect its radiance so My daily gladness I'll be voicing.
And though I'm stooped and silver-haired, Let me with laughter make the hearth gay, So by the gods I may be spared Each year to hear: "Pop, Happy Birthday.
"


Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Book Lover

 I keep collecting books I know
I'll never, never read;
My wife and daughter tell me so,
And yet I never head.
"Please make me," says some wistful tome, "A wee bit of yourself.
" And so I take my treasure home, And tuck it in a shelf.
And now my very shelves complain; They jam and over-spill.
They say: "Why don't you ease our strain?" "some day," I say, "I will.
" So book by book they plead and sigh; I pick and dip and scan; Then put them back, distrest that I Am such a busy man.
Now, there's my Boswell and my Sterne, my Gibbon and Defoe; To savour Swift I'll never learn, Montaigne I may not know.
On Bacon I will never sup, For Shakespeare I've no time; Because I'm busy making up These jingly bits of rhyme.
Chekov is caviare to me, While Stendhal makes me snore; Poor Proust is not my cup of tea, And Balzac is a bore.
I have their books, I love their names, And yet alas! they head, With Lawrence, Joyce and Henry James, My Roster of Unread.
I think it would be very well If I commit a crime, And get put in a prison cell And not allowed to rhyme; Yet given all these worthy books According to my need, I now caress with loving looks, But never, never read.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things