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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 Susan on 08/09/2003 (5492 reads)
Life's but illusion, I am told...

Life's but illusion, I am told.
Our senses make the world we see;
With mind inept we have no hold
On ultimate reality.
A billion atoms may compose

                                A radiant rose.

This solid flesh we feel and know,
Atomic density designs;
It is a frame of flux and flow
Whose border has no rigid lines:
Atom meets atom in the clutch

                                Of hands that touch.

And we ourselves are generate
Of laws that baffle our control:
Yet though we are the fools of fate
I hold in what I call my soul;
A hope, a faith, a light, a joy

                               No logic can destroy.

Let me believe that all I see,
(The sterile scientist despite),
Just as it is, was meant for me,
To win my wonder and delight . . .
A kiss: a childish hand to close:

                               The rapture of a rose!

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