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Poem by Robert William Service


Horatio


His portrait hung upon the wall.
Oh how at us he used to stare.
Each Sunday when I made my call! --
And when one day it wasn't there,
Quite quick I seemed to understand
The light was green to hold her hand.

Her eyes were amorously lit;
I knew she wouldn't mind at all.
Yet what I did was sit and sit
Seeing that blankness on the wall...
Horatio had a gentle face,--
How would my mug look in his place?

That oblong of wall-paper wan!
And while she prattled prettily
I sensed the red light going on,
So I refused a cup of tea,
And took my gold-topped cane and hat--
My going seemed to leave her flat.

Horatio was a decent guy,
And when she ravished from her heart
A damsite better man than I,
She seemed to me, -- well, just a tart:
Her lack of tact I can't explain.
His picture, -- is it hung again?



Robert William Service


Robert William Service's other poems:
  1. Pullman Porter
  2. The Missal Makers
  3. Trees against the Sky
  4. The Three Voices
  5. Mammy


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