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There once was a limpet puffed with pride Who said to the ribald sea:

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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 (3468 reads)
The leaves are falling one and one...

The leaves are falling one and one,
         Each like a life to me,
As over-soonly in the sun
         They spiral goldenly:
So airily and warily
         They falter free.

The leaves are falling two and two,
         Beneath a baleful sky;
So silently the sward they strew,
         Reluctantly they die . . .
Rich crimson leaves,--and no one grieves
         There doom but I.

The leaves are falling three and three
         Beneath the mothlike moon;
They flutter downward silverly
         In muted rigadoon;
And russet dry remote they lie
         From feathered tune.

The leaves are lying numberless,
         Disconsolately dead;
Where lucent was their sylvan dress
         And lightsome was their tread,
They rot below the bitter snow,

A leaf's a life, and one by one
         They drift each darkling day;
Rare friends who lusted in the sun
         Are frailing fast away . . .
How sadly soon will mourn the moon
         My dark decay!

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