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He was my one and only love...

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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
All Entries 1997 - 2002
All Entries 2002
Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert


Published by Susan on 08/02/2003 (3162 reads)
The red-roofed house of dream design...

The red-roofed house of dream design
      Looks three ways on the sea;
For fifty years I've made it mine,
      And held it part of me.
The pines I planted in my youth
      Triumpantly are tall . . .
Yet now I know with sorry sooth
      I have to leave it all.

Hard-hewn from out the living rock
      And salty from the tide,
My house has braved the tempest shock
      With hardihood and pride.
Each nook is memoried to me;
      I've loved its every stone,
And cried to it exultantly:
      "My own, my very own!"

Poor fool! To think that I possess .
      I have but cannot hold;
And all that's mine is less and less
      My own as I grow old.
My home shall ring with childish cheers
      When I shall leave it lone;
My house will bide a hundred years
      When I am in the bone.

Alas! No thing can be my own:
      At most a life-long lease
Is all I hold, a little loan
      From Time, that soon will cease.
For now by faint and failing breath
      I feel that I must go . . .
Old House! You've never known a death,--
      Well, now's your hour to know.

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