I bought a cuckoo clock...
In the Spotlight !
This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, it's 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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The Song of the PacifistPublished by Susan on 2003/7/24 (2399 reads)
What do they matter, our headlong hates, when we take the toll...
What do they matter, our headlong hates, when we take the toll of our Dead?
If by the Victory all we mean is a broken and brooding foe;
If by the Triumph we only prove that the sword we sheathe is bright;
If this be all: by the blood-drenched plains, by the havoc of fire and fear,
Victory! there can be but one, hallowed in every land:
Triumph! Yes, when out of the dust in the splendour of their release
Glory! Ay, when from blackest loss shall be born most radiant gain;
When our children's children shall talk of War as a madness that may not be;
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