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Father drank himself to death...

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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
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Orphan School

Published by Susan on 08/09/2003 (2644 reads)
Full fifty merry maids I heard...

Full fifty merry maids I heard
       One summer morn a-singing;
And each was like a joyous bird
       With spring-clear not a-ringing.
It was an old-time soldier song
       That held their happy voices:
Oh how it's good to swing along
               When youth rejoices!

Then lo! I dreamed long years had gone,
       They passed again ungladly.
Their backs were bent, their cheeks were wan,
       Their eyes were staring sadly.
Their ranks were thinned by full a score
       From death's remorseless reaping
Their steps were slow, they sang no more,--
               Nay, some were weeping.

Dark dream! I saw my maids today
       Singing so innocently;
Their eyes with happiness were gay,
       They looked at me so gently.
Thought I: Be merry in your youth
       With hearts unrueing:
Thank God you do not know the truth
               Of Life's Undoing!

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