English Poetry. Robert William Service. The Record. Роберт Уильям Сервис.

Robert William Service (Роберт Уильям Сервис)

The Record

Fearing that she might go one day
With some fine fellow of her choice,
I called her from her childish play,
And made a record of her voice.
And now that she is truly gone,
I hear it sweet and crystal clear
From out my wheezy gramophone:
"I love you, Daddy dear."

Indeed it's true she went away,
But Oh she went all, all alone;
Into the dark she went for aye,
Poor little mite! ere girlhood grown.
Ah that I could with her have gone!
But this is all I have to show -
A ghost voice on a gramophone:
"Dear Dad, I love you so."

The saddest part of loss 'tis said,
Is that time tempers our regret;
But that is treason to the dead -
I'll not forget, I'll not forget.
Sole souvenir of golden years,
'Twas best to break this disc in two,
And spare myself a spate of tears...
But this I cannot do.

So I will play it every day,
And it will seem that she is near,
And once again I'll hear her say:
I love you so, Oh Daddy dear."
And then her kiss; a stab of woe.
The record ends... I breathe a plea:
"Oh God, speed me to where I know
Wee lass, you wait for me."

Robert William Service’s other poems:

1. Spanish Women
2. Abandoned Dog
3. The Prospector
4. The Sceptic
5. Playboy

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