PART I PUPPYHOOD _"What other nature yours than of a child Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call, In wordless pity, to the souls of all, Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute And constant friendship links the man and brute?"_
THE DOG'S BOOK OF VERSE
WE MEET AT MORN
Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear A patter coming nearer and more near, And then upon my chamber door A gentle tapping, For dogs, though proud, are poor, And if a tail will do to give command Why use a hand? And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping, And next a scuffle on the passage floor, And then I know the creature lies to watch Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch. And like a spring That gains its power by being tightly stayed, The impatient thing Into the room Its whole glad heart doth fling, And ere the gloom Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled, I hear a bounce upon the bed, I feel a creeping toward me--a soft head, And on my face A tender nose, and cold-- This is the way, you know, that dogs embrace-- And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves flung, The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue --And so my dog and I have met and sworn Fresh love and fealty for another morn.
HARDWICKE DRUMMOND RAWNSLEY.
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