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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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Weary Waitress

Published by Susan on 08/02/2003 (3219 reads)
Her smile ineffably is sweet...

Her smile ineffably is sweet,
       Devinely she is slim;
Yet oh how weary are her feet,
       How aches her every limb!
Thank God it's near to closing time,
       --Merciful midnight chime.

Then in her mackintosh she'll go
       Up seven flights of stairs,
And on her bed her body throw,
       Too tired to say her prayers;
Yet not too sleepy to forget
       Her cheap alarm to set.

She dreams . . . That lonely bank-clerk boy
       Who comes each day for tea,--
Oh how his eyes light up with joy
       Her comeliness to see!
And yet he is too shy to speak,
       Far less to touch her cheek.

He dreams . . . If only I were King
       I'd make of her my Queen.
If I were laureate I'd sing
       Her loveliness serene.
--How wistfully romance can haunt
       A city restaurant!

For as I watch that pensive pair
       There stirs within my heart
From Arcady an April air
       That shames the sordid mart:
A sense of Spring and singing rills,
              --Love mid the daffodils.

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