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His aged hands were grained with grime

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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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Kail Yard Bard

Published by Susan on 08/01/2003 (2696 reads)
A very humble pen I ply...

A very humble pen I ply
      Beneath a cottage thatch;
And in the sunny hours I try
      To till my cabbage patch;
And in the gloaming glad am I
             To lift the latch.

I do not plot to pile up pelf,
      With jowl and belly fat;
To simple song I give myself,
      And seek no gain at that:
Content if milk is on the shelf
             To feed the cat.

I joy that haleness I possess,
      Though fame has passed me by;
And see such gold of happiness
      A-shining in the sky,
I wonder who has won success,
             Proud men or I?

I do not grieve that I am poor,
      And by the world unknown;
Free as the wind, serene and sure,
      In peace I live alone.
'Tis better to be bard obscure
             Than King on Throne.


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