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Only a Leather Medal, hanging there on the wall,

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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

My Room

Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (2686 reads)
I think the things I own and love...

I think the things I own and love
       Acquire a sense of me,
That gives them value far above
       The worth that others see.
My chattels are of me a part:
       This chair on which I sit
Would break its overstuffed old heart
       If I made junk of it.

To humble needs with which I live,
       My books, my desk, my bed,
A personality I give
       They'll lose when I am dead.
Sometimes on entering my room
       They look at me with fear,
As if they had a sense of doom
       Inevitably near.

Yet haply, since they do not die,
       In them will linger on
Some of the spirit that was I,
       When I am gone.
And maybe some sweet soul will sigh,
       And stroke with tender touch
The things I loved, and even cry
       A little,--not too much.

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