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No matter how he toil and strive...

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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
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Published by Susan on 07/30/2003 (2756 reads)
When twenty-one I loved to dream...

When twenty-one I loved to dream,
     And was to loafing well inclined;
Somehow I couldn't get up steam
     To welcome work of any kind.
While students burned the midnight lamp,
     With dour ambition as their goad,
I longed to be a gayful tramp
     And greet adventure on the road.

But now that sixty years have sped,
     Behold! I toil from morn to night.
The thoughts that teem into my head
     I pray: God give me time to write.
With eager and unflagging pen
     No drudgery of desk I shirk,
And preach to all retiring men
     The gospel of unceasing work.

And yet I do not sadly grieve
     Such squandering of golden days;
For from my dreaming I believe
     Have stemmed my least unworthy lays.
Aye, toil is best when all is said,
     As age has made me understand . . .
So fitly fold, when I am dead,
     A pencil in my hand.


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