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Oh I have worn my mourning out...

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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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Dolls

Published by Webmaster on 07/25/2003 (6221 reads)
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More years went on and they made her wise
By sickness and pain and sacrifice,
With greying tresses and tired eyes.

And then one evening of weary rain,
She opened the old oak box again,
And her heart was clutched with an ancient pain

For there in the quiet dark they lay,
Just as they were when she put them away...
O but it seemed like yesterday!

Topsy and Tiny and Teddy Bear,
Eglantine, Pierrot and Marie Claire,
Ever so hopefully waiting there.

But she looked at them through her blinding tears,
And she said: "You've been patient, my pretty dears;
You've waited and waited all these years.

"I've broken a promise I made so true;
But my heart, my darlings, is broken too:
No little Mothers have I for you.

"My hands are withered, my hair is grey;
Yet just for a moment I'll try to play
With you as I did that long dead day...

"Ah no, I cannot. I try in vain . . .
I stare and I stare into the rain . . .
I'll put you back in your box again.

"Bless you, darlings, perhaps one day,
Some little Mother will find you and play,
And once again you'll be glad and gay.

"But when in the friendly dark I lie,
No one will ever love you as I . . . .
My little children . . . good-bye . . . good-bye."

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