FOLK COLLECTION 11: The Skaggs Foundation Cowboy Poetry Collection
29769 results found for "No Search Criteria Set"Book Title
Composer
Call #
Pages
Author
Poem Title
First Lines
Keywords
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
37
Rhoda Sivell
Honey
Won't you meet me by the river, my own Honey? For across the old range I will ride tonight, And I'll wait by the big bend of the river, When the prairie moon is shining soft and bright; The blue-birds will be sleeping in the willows, And they'll not hear what I have to say. I want you, oh, my Honey, how I want you In my little lonely ranch so far away!
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
39
Rhoda Sivell
The Hunter's Bride
Winds blow high, winds blow low, As o'er the mountain's steep you go; The slippery paths where the wild deer leap, And the eagle soars o'er its rugged steep. Up the mountains at break of day A hunter toils his lonely way, Swift as the deer which before him spring, And light as the wild bird on the wing.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
41
Rhoda Sivell
Listen To The Coyotes
Hear the coyotes howling Out in coulees dark. Shrilly through the stillness Comes the coyoyte's bark. Dark does seem the river, And wild, indeed, the night, And all the hills around us Are fading from our sight.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
44
Rhoda Sivell
The Motherless Calf
Only a day! You poor little calf, With the brown and glossy head! Only a day on the old rough ranch, And your dear old mother dead. We put you up close beside her, And though she was weak and sick, She lifted her head to her little one, And gave you a loving lick.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
45
Rhoda Sivell
The Wood By The Saskatcheway
I came, when the dawn was breaking, To a wood by the river side, I rode from the far-off ranges Where the prairie stretches wide. Looking for stock that had wandered; Thinking they might have strayed Down to the wood by the river, So straight for the wood I made.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
47
Rhoda Sivell
Our Last Ride
We drifted out West together, In the light of the dying day; The town faded far behind us, Bath'd in its gas-light ray. The smell of the rain-swept prairie Blew up to us strong and sweet, And all the music we needed Was the ring of the unshod feet.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
49
Rhoda Sivell
The Range Call
I'm lonely tonight for the old range, And the voices I loved to hear; Though the band in the town is playing, The music comes soft to my ear. There's only the river between us, The town in the flat shows bright, But I'm lonely, lonely, lonely, For my old range home tonight.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
51
Rhoda Sivell
Canada, Her Firstborn
Men of her far-flung Empire, With you they would have me speak, In the voice of the mother country, The homeland across the deep. Hark! she's looking towards you, Her firstborn, her eldest son; Looking for you to help her; Yea, and it must be done.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
54
Rhoda Sivell
Alberta's Answer To "The Law Of The Yukon"
The sun as it rises in splendor, And sets in a halo of gold, Over the Western ranges, Sees some of her greatness unfold. The land with its wheatfields all golden; Its thousands of homes of the plain; Its valleys all teeming with people-- And still we are calling again.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
57
Rhoda Sivell
Nature's Prayer
Long months have past, and still there is no rain, So brown and dry does seem the far-off plain; The willows hang with dry and withered leaves, And dull and listless seem the cotton trees.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
59
Rhoda Sivell
Come To Me At Sunset
Come to me at sunset, When the shadows fall; Just in that twilight hour I miss you most of all. Come to me, my darling, When your work is done; And the hills are turned to gold By the setting sun.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
61
Rhoda Sivell
The Rider That Never "Made Good"
You look at the men that are lucky, You tell me they're fated to be, You say that they got all the chances; There's none left for you or for me. That's why we grope in the darkness, That's why we stumble and fall; But I tell you the great God above us Has given such chances to all.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
64
Rhoda Sivell
Alone
I stand alone. The storms around me sweep, The darkness gathers fast. I hear the mighty roar of torrents on the steep Across the mountain pass. Alone! Alone! No one to hold my hand; Alone, alone I stand!
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
65
Rhoda Sivell
They Keep A-Stealing On You In The Night
When you think you have forgotten, And have lived the feelings down, And have shoved the best that's in you out of sight; You don't trouble in the daytime, When you're busy up in town, But they keep a-stealing on you in the night.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
67
Rhoda Sivell
The Cow-Girl
Out on the wild range, riding To the music of drifting feet; As we lope o'er the sunburned prairie, I and the cow-girl meet. The sun in the West is setting, And shoots out its golden beams; One falls on the face of the rider, The cow-girl of my dreams.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
69
Rhoda Sivell
Only A Kiss
Only a kiss, a mother's kiss, So sacred, and pure, and true. The world would laugh If you tried to tell What wonders a kiss would do; It would bring you back from the path of hell, That mother's kiss to you.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
71
Rhoda Sivell
Voices From The Range
There's an old ranch by the river, Out far across the plain, Where no city dust blows o'er it, But cut-banks washed by rain; By the big bend of the river, Where the soft winds whisper low, And the doves coo in the poplar trees, And the wild clematis grow.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
73
Rhoda Sivell
The Hard Winter
We knew we were up against it, For the snow on the hills lay deep; It drifted into the coulees, And most of the drifts ten feet. 'Twas a poor layout for range stock, And most of them looked a sight; For four long months they had fought it, And put up a desp'rate fight.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
77
Rhoda Sivell
The Rider's Paradise
A rider lay in the bunk-house. He was dolgone tired that night, And he dreamt of another region, A land that was out of sight. He was tired of the cold, hard winter, The dead stock lying around, And tired of tending the sick ones, And he cussed the frozen ground.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
81
Rhoda Sivell
The Wold-Dog
I have ridden in the daytime, I have ridden in the night, In darkness when my horse's head Was hidden from my sight; But I found that in the darkness There was nothing there to fear, But the one thing I'm afraid of-- When the wolf-dog's coming near.
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
84
Rhoda Sivell
Visions
I sit beside my firelight in the gloom, The shadows darken in the dim old room, I see your face a'midst the flashing flame And kneeling, softly call again your name. You come again just as you did before; I hear your footsteps on the oaken floor. The years have slipped away and you are here, Belov'd of my soul, thou art so near!
Voices From the Range
FC 11 S-34
86
Rhoda Sivell
Every Day
It's not the glorious mountain in the distance far away-- You cannot see it's beauty in your home life every day-- It's the little homely range of hills that you and I can see, With flow'rs all growing o'er them, that is dear to you and me.
Rhymes of a Rolling Stone
FC 11 S-63
3
Robert Service
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.
Rhymes of a Rolling Stone
FC 11 S-63
7
Robert Service
The Soldier Of Fortune
"Deny your God!" they ringed me with their spears; Blood-crazed were they, and reeking from the strife; Hell-hot their hate, and venom-fanged their sneers, And one man spat on me and nursed a knife. And there was I, sore wounded and alone, I, the last living of my slaughtered band.
Rhymes of a Rolling Stone
FC 11 S-63
11
Robert Service
The Gramaphone At Fond-Du-Lac
Now Eddie Malone got a swell grammyfone to draw all the trade to his store; An' sez he: "Come along for a season of song, which the like ye had niver before." Then Dogrib, an' Slave, an' Yellow-knife brave, an' Cree in his dinky canoe, Confluated near, to see an' to hear Ed's grammyfone make its dayboo.