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Another day of toil and strife...

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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.
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Our Hero

Published by Susan on 07/23/2003 (2524 reads)
"Flowers, only flowers -- bring me dainty posies...

"Flowers, only flowers -- bring me dainty posies,
   Blossoms for forgetfulness," that was all he said;
So we sacked our gardens, violets and roses,
   Lilies white and bluebells laid we on his bed.
Soft his pale hands touched them, tenderly caressing;
   Soft into his tired eyes came a little light;
Such a wistful love-look, gentle as a blessing;
   There amid the flowers waited he the night.

"I would have you raise me; I can see the West then:
   I would see the sun set once before I go."
So he lay a-gazing, seemed to be at rest then,
   Quiet as a spirit in the golden glow.
So he lay a-watching rosy castles crumbling,
   Moats of blinding amber, bastions of flame,
Rugged rifts of opal, crimson turrets tumbling;
   So he lay a-dreaming till the shadows came.

"Open wide the window; there's a lark a-singing;
   There's a glad lark singing in the evening sky.
How it's wild with rapture, radiantly winging:
   Oh it's good to hear that when one has to die.
I am horror-haunted from the hell they found me;
   I am battle-broken, all I want is rest.
Ah! It's good to die so, blossoms all around me,
   And a kind lark singing in the golden West.

"Flowers, song and sunshine, just one thing is wanting,
   Just the happy laughter of a little child."
So we brought our dearest, Doris all-enchanting;
   Tenderly he kissed her; radiant he smiled.
"In the golden peace-time you will tell the story
   How for you and yours, sweet, bitter deaths were ours. . . .
God bless little children!" So he passed to glory,
   So we left him sleeping, still amid the flow'rs.


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