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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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Strange Thirst

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3405 reads)
Perched high upon an office stool

Strange Thirst

Perched high upon an office stool
    I plied a plaintive pen,
Thinking a chap's a bloody fool
    To hive in homes of men;
When there's the wilderness to span,
    The desert to explore,
And he may camp where never man
    Has pitched a tent before.

And so it grimly came to pass,
    Because I willed it so,
I proved myself a precious ass,
    And went where wastrels go.
I fashioned my fantastic fate,
    Insanely resolute,
Seeking some spot inviolate,
    Unfound by human foot.

The puny pines were whimpering
    Their plaint of winter woe;
The lythe brook held the bitter sting"
    If immemorial snow;
Yet oh! Joy-crazy as a child,
    I flared the hemlock high,
To think that in this haggard wild
    The first to burst was I.

To think that bird and beast and tree
    In this so secret place,
Had never seen the likes of me,
    Nor reckoned of my race.
To think that hank of rag and bone
    Saw now what none had seen,
And I was all alone, alone
    Where man had never been.

And so despite defeat and scathe,
    As fated from my birth,
Exultantly I kept the faith
    With elemental earth.
My brothers sober ways did plod,
    I chose the path of pain. . . .
And if I could re-live - by God!
    I'd do the same again.

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