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This is one of my all time FAVORITE poems! I spend time in the Quetico Wilderness Park in Ontario, Canada every year and this was recited to me by my counselor my first trip. I have loved it ever since. Enjoy :)



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There are strange things done in 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

I cremated Sam McGee.





Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,

where the cotton blooms and blows.

Why he left his home in the South to roam

‘round the Pole, 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.”





On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.

Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold

it stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze

till sometimes we couldn’t see;

It wasn’t much fun, but the only one

to whimper was Sam McGee.





And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,

And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,

He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he,

“I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;

And if I do, I’m asking you

won’t refuse my last request.”





Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:

“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold

till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet ‘taint being dead—it’s my awful dread

of the icy grave that pains;

So I want you to swear

that, foul or fair,

you’ll cremate my last remains.”





A pal’s last need is a thing to heed,

so I swore I would not fail;

And we started on at the streak of dawn;

but God! he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;

And before nightfall a corpse was all

that was left of Sam McGee.





There wasn’t a breath in that land of death,

and I hurried, horror-driven,

With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;

It was lashed to the sleigh,

and it seemed to say:

“You may tax your brawn and brains,

But you promised true, and it’s up to you

to cremate those last remains.”





Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,

and the trail has its own stern code.

In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.





And every day that quiet clay

seemed to heavy and heavier grow;

And on I went, though the dogs were spent

and the grub was getting low;

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,

but I swore I would not give in;

And I’d often sing to the hateful thing,

and it hearkened with a grin.





Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,

and a derelict there lay;

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice

it was called the “Alice May.”

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,

and I looked at my frozen chum;

Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry,

“is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”





Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,

and I lit the boiler fire;

Some coal I found that was lying around,

and I heaped the fuel higher;

The flames just soared and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;





Then I burrowed a hole

in the glowing coal,

and I stuffed in Sam McGee.





Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like

to hear him sizzle so;

And the heavens scowled,

and the huskies howled,

and the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled

down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak

went streaking down the sky.





I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;

But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:

“I’ll just take a peep inside.

I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” then the door I opened wide.





And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,

in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile,

and he said: “Please close that door.

It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear

you’ll let in the cold and storm—

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,

it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”





There are strange things done in 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

I cremated Sam McGee.

COMMENTS

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darksurfer1969
04:16 Feb 20 2011

A nice 1,never read It till now.

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I write constantly... about my day, my life, my thoughts, my feelings, anything and everything.



Because my brain is forever buzzing I have to keep multiple journals at a time. I have one for dreams, one for happy thoughts, one for sad thoughts, one for rage and anger, one for nonsense, one for daydreams and fantasies, and one for my poems/short stories.



Usually I prefer to actually write things out. Good old fashioned paper and pen...it feels more personal and sort of like dropping a memory into a pensive to review later (HP references I use them). But sometimes I like to share parts of my writing... you never know who might pass by that day and just need to hear that specific sequence of words to change their whole day around (hopefully for the better). I know there have been many times, that seeing through the eyes of others have helped me... so why not do the same?



Some of these poems were written by me, and some by others I happen to find particularly poingnant (credit will always be given where it is due).



It'll definately be all over the place and I can't promise you'll like everything but hopefully you'll find something that strikes your fancy :)

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darksurfer1969
04:26 Feb 20 2011

I loved almost all poems.lol Most of my stuff has been lost although to me and It sometimes sadden me too.But I guess It was the fates way of saying It was time to for me to expand.I still have a lot of poems I can put on here although and will soon for everyone to read.Some are sad poems and some are happy poems.But most of my poems are about my life,how I felt.Or how I've been let down.Or how I've struggle In life and overcame It In the end.Looking forward to reading more of your stuff too.

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