[Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) being scattered chapters from the history of the Cooper, Pomeroy, Woolson and Benedict families, with extracts From their Letters and Journals, as well as articles and poems by Constance Fenimore Woolson |
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“GENTLEMAN WAIFE.” |
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 | [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) |  |
233
“GENTLEMAN WAIFE.”
Only a poor little dog,
Why should you grieve?
He had not an atom of soul,
So we believe.
Instinct and animal life
Only were there—
Poor little Waife, he has gone
Why should you care?
Why should you grieve?
He had not an atom of soul,
So we believe.
Instinct and animal life
Only were there—
Poor little Waife, he has gone
Why should you care?
Only a dog, let him go
Under the sod.
Not a small foot-mark remains
Where he has trod.
Even his few human friends
Scarcely vouchsafe,
More than a thought to his death,
Poor little Waife!
Under the sod.
Not a small foot-mark remains
Where he has trod.
Even his few human friends
Scarcely vouchsafe,
More than a thought to his death,
Poor little Waife!
Joyous he followed your steps,
Joyous he went
After his master, and felt
Perfect content
Just to be near you. He kept
Trying to say
How much he loved you, poor dog.
In his dumb way.
Joyous he went
After his master, and felt
Perfect content
Just to be near you. He kept
Trying to say
How much he loved you, poor dog.
In his dumb way.
Gay little Waife, how he ran
Happily on,
Down the long Florida roads,
Ever anon,
Looking to see you were there,
Swift rushing back—
Little brown spot of live joy
On the white track.
Happily on,
Down the long Florida roads,
Ever anon,
Looking to see you were there,
Swift rushing back—
Little brown spot of live joy
On the white track.
Bounding and circling for glee;
Then far away
Over the palmetto wastes
On a foray,
All by himself, coming in,
Proudly, as though
Wonderful things he had learned
You did not know.
Then far away
Over the palmetto wastes
On a foray,
All by himself, coming in,
Proudly, as though
Wonderful things he had learned
You did not know.
Changed are the afternoon walks,
Something seems wrong,
Lifeless the pine-barren roads—
Lifeless and long;
Coming home over the bridge
In the red light
Thrown by the sunset that shines
Far into night.
Something seems wrong,
Lifeless the pine-barren roads—
Lifeless and long;
Coming home over the bridge
In the red light
Thrown by the sunset that shines
Far into night.
234
While the first emerald stars
Silvery show,
You will miss Waifey, I think—
More than you know,
More than the careless of heart
Could comprehend,
Only a poor little dog—
Yes; but a friend.
Silvery show,
You will miss Waifey, I think—
More than you know,
More than the careless of heart
Could comprehend,
Only a poor little dog—
Yes; but a friend.
His vague little life has run out;
Why did he live?
We know not; he knows least of all;
Yet I would give
Something if I could but think,
Fancy, that he
Had a small future somewhere,
Even as we.
Why did he live?
We know not; he knows least of all;
Yet I would give
Something if I could but think,
Fancy, that he
Had a small future somewhere,
Even as we.
Wrapped in his soft silken shroud,
Calm may he sleep,
Down in his dark little grave,
Hollowed out deep.
“Hic jacet Gentleman Waife,”
Write on the scroll;
He was, and he is not; poor dog,
That was the whole!
Calm may he sleep,
Down in his dark little grave,
Hollowed out deep.
“Hic jacet Gentleman Waife,”
Write on the scroll;
He was, and he is not; poor dog,
That was the whole!
| [Poems by Woolson in] Five generations (1785-1923) | |