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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

Herbert

Published by Webmaster on 07/30/2003 (2304 reads)
He loved the country, she the town,

Herbert

He loved the country, she the town,
    And so he stuck it with the Store,
In stale apartment battened down,
    Amid the city's reek and roar.
And when Babe went to women's clubs
    And played a gainful game of cards,
He drank his beer in local pubs
                            And prowled the boulevards.

Then when from business he retired,
    And smoked his pipe with time to waste,
He thought: "By Nature-love inspired
    Now I can gratify my taste.
A cottage  and a strip of ground,
    A garden - that's my cup of tea. . . .
At last the very thing he found,
                                And took Babe down to see.

With eyes aglow  and heart abrim
    He showed her round the garden gay;
Some wistful roses raptured him,
    But she had nothing much to say.
And when he spoke of growing food,
    With bleak regard she damped him down. . . .
Alas! he saw it was no good,
                                And drove her back to town.

And now  he roams the greasy streets,
    A little rabbit man who dreams
Of growing carrots, spuds and beets,
    And cabbages and lima beans.
Yet   when fat wife to bridge has gone,
    And into dopey dream he slips. . . .
Lo! gossamer is on the lawn,
                                A rose is at his lips.


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