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She said: "I am too old to play With dolls," and put them all away, Into a box, one rainy day.

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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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Mazie's Ghost

Published by Susan on 07/27/2003 (2937 reads)
In London City I evade...

In London City I evade
For charming Burlington Arcade -
For thee in youth I met a maid
                                By name of Mazie,
Who lost no time in telling me
The Ritz put up a topping tea,
But having only shillings three
                                My smile was hazy.

"Instead," said I, "it might be sport
To take a bus to Hampton Court,"
(Her manner, I remarked, was short,)
                                But she assented.
We climbed on top, and all the way
I held her hand, I felt quite gay,
Bu Mazie, I regret to say,
                                Seemed discontented.

In fact we almost had a tiff.
It's true it rained and she was stiff,
And all she did was sneeze and sniff
                                And shudder coldly.
So I said: "Mazzie, there's the maze;
Let's frolic in its leafy ways,"
And buying tickets where one pays
                                I entered boldly.

The, as the game is, we were lots;
We dashed and darted, crissed and crossed,
But Mazie she got vexed and sauced
                                Me rather smartly.
There wasn't but us two about;
We hollered, no one heard our shout;
The rain poured down: "Oh let's get out,"
                                Cried Mazie tartly.

"Keep cool, says I. "You fool," says she;
"I'm sopping wet, I want my tea,
Please take me home," she wailed to me
                                In accents bitter.
Again we tried, this way and that,
Yet came to where we started at,
And Mazie acted like a cat,
                                A champion spitter.

She stomped and romped till all was blue,
Then sought herself to find the clue,
And when I saw her next 'twas through
                                A leafy screening;
"Come on, she cooed, "and join me here;
You'll take me to the Savoy, dear,
And Heidsieck shall our spirits cheer."
                                I got her meaning.

And yet I sought her everywhere;
I hurried here, I scurried there,
I took each likely lane, I swar,
                                As I surmised it:
The suddenly I saw once more,
Confronting me, the exit door,
And I was dashing through before
                                I realized it.

And there I spied a passing bus.
Thinks I: "It's mean to leave her thus,
But after all her fret and fuss
                                I can't abide her.
So I sped back to London town
And grubbed alone for half-a-crown,
On steak and kidney pie washed down
                                With sparkling cider.

But since I left that damsel fair,
The thought she may have perished there,
Of cold, starvation and dispair
                                Nigh drives me crazy.
So, stranger, if you should invade
The charming Burlington Arcade,
Tell me if you behold a shade,
Ghost of a most unhappy maid
                                By name of Mazie.


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