 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
47
ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD DOG.
Thou honest servant, friend, of many years,Thy loss doth that of worldly goods transcend—
I loved thee: and we love not to no end
Or use, nor twine our human hopes and fears
Round the least thing in vain, nor shed vain tears
Even for thee—for so my heart doth send
A recognition after thee, old friend,
Due to thy love, and of mine the arrears!
Thou hast departed, and thy clear, frank eye,
Void of suspicion as of guile, no more
Looks up into my face inquiringly—
Yet that in thee which loved, as it before
Thy time existed, will eternally,
For Love 's of God, whatever shape it bore!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |