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The woes of men beyond my ken Mean nothing more to me.

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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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Don Juan

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (2598 reads)
Sweet Stranger, stand upon this stone

Don Juan

Sweet Stranger, stand upon this stone
                    And pray for me,
Who pitifully would atone
                    My perfidy.
Who did such evil in his day
                    To maid and man;
Kind pilgrim, on this tombstone pray
                    For Don Juan.

Thus read on an ancient slab
                    By hospice door,
Whose walls with poverty were drab,
                    Whose roof was hoar.
And in its halls so vast and bare,
                    Each on a bed,
A hundred ancients, crushed with care,
                    Were gnawing bread.

Their cheeks were hollow, dim their eyes;
                    They coughed  and coughed.
While some just stared with sad surmise,
                    Some berets doffed.
Two priceless pictures starred the wall,
                    By Masters done,
Proclaiming that Death comes to all,
                    And spareth none.

Like animals these men await
                    Death's final grace,
While others bide beyond the gate
                    To take their palce.
Such is the charity of one
                    Who in his span
Much evil did beneath the sun -
                    Poor Don Juan!


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