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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
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Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert

Days

Published by Susan on 07/27/2003 (2901 reads)
I am a Day . . .My sky is grey...

I am a Day . . .
My sky is grey,
My wind is wild,
My sea high-piled:
In year of days the first
In misery . . . 
Oh pity me!
I am a Day
                Accurst.

"Sweet Day, not curst but blest:
Behold upon my breast
My baby born
Your early morn.
Safe in my arms alway . . .
Oh precious Day,
let tempest be,
You are to me
In heart of mine
                Divine."

 *    *    *    *    *    *    *

I am a Day . . .
From dawn's pure ray
Like to a peerless gem
In summer's diadem,
My sky so softly dreams,
my breeze is bland:
My sea is blue and creams
Upon the sand,
Behold! Of days the Queen
                I reign serene.

"Oh Day, not blest but curst!
Let savage storm-rack burst,
i will not care . . .
For Lo! I bear
My baby's coffin to the height.
Ah! Would it were the foulest night
To match my mood''s
Ingratitude.
I cannot not pray . . .
Go your fell way,
                Accursed Day!"


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