The Healer
Robert William Service
“Tuberculosis should not be,” The old professor said. “If folks would hearken unto me ’Twould save a million dead. Nay, no consumptive needs to die, —A cure have I. “From blood of turtle I’ve distilled An elixir of worth; Let every sufferer be thrilled And sing for joy of earth; Yet every doctor turns his back And calls me quack. “Alas! They do not want to cure, For sickness is their meat; So persecution I endure, And die in dark defeat: Ye lungers, listen to my call! —I’ll save you all.” The old Professor now is dead, And turtles of the sea, Knowing their blood they need not shed, Are festive in their glee: While sanitoriums are crammed With legions dammed.
Next 10 Poems
- Robert William Service : The Heart Of The Sourdough
- Robert William Service : The Hearth-stone
- Robert William Service : The Hinterland
- Robert William Service : The Home-coming
- Robert William Service : The Homicide
- Robert William Service : The Host
- Robert William Service : The Idealist
- Robert William Service : The Joy Of Being Poor
- Robert William Service : The Joy Of Little Things
- Robert William Service : The Judgement
Previous 10 Poems
- Robert William Service : The Headliner And The Breadliner
- Robert William Service : The Hat
- Robert William Service : The Harpy
- Robert William Service : The Hand
- Robert William Service : The Haggis Of Private Mcphee
- Robert William Service : The Great Recall
- Robert William Service : The Gramaphone At Fond-du-lac
- Robert William Service : The God Of Common-sense
- Robert William Service : The Goat And I
- Robert William Service : The Ghosts