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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
Odds and Ends, Other Items Of Interest About Robert


Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (3998 reads)
Though we were sleek and rotten rich


Though we were sleek and rotten rich,
    No greasy florins would we spend;
We dumped him in a dirty ditch
    And doomed him to a pauper's end.
One devil's day of storm and sleet,
    With none to mourn and none to pray,
From poverty, pain and defeat
                                                He passed away.

A great and saintly soul revealed
    In harmonies now deemed divine,
We left him in the Potter's field,
    With never on the grave a sign.
His sick wife from her bed arose,
    To see in vain the resting place
Of one whom all the world now knows
                                                For tuneful grace.

Hi years were only thirty-five,
    Yet music's miracle was he;
None other twice as long alive
    Has matched his magic minstrelsy.
No gentler being, pure as snow,
    Was ever dumped from charnel cart
To grave unmarked . . .His name you know -

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