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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 Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3364 reads)
The Prince they say, has had his day


The Prince they say, has had his day
            And it was proud and high;
And now you meet him in the street
            On foot as you and I.
And though you note his shabby coat,
            A monocle he sports,
And has the flair so d ébonnaire
            Of protocols and courts.

The prince is lean, his lips are green,
            His face is putty grey:
A meal of meat he cannot eat
            Because he cannot pay,
From Savile Row of long ago
            A threadbare suit he wears,
Yet as I pass he cocks his glass
            And stonily he stares.

Bu yesterday upon my way
            His haughtiness I met,
And such his glance of arrogance
            I dropped my cigarette,
For very shy and meek am I,
            Yet as I turned around
I saw him quick bend down and pick
            My fag from off the ground.

And so this morn I braved his scorn
            As in the sun we strolled;
A mild gold-flake I begged him take
            From out my case of gold.
Sour as a quince  I saw him wince,
            His eye-glass he produced.
"No thanks," said he; "Hum! pardon me -
            Have we been introduced?"

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