The Dog's Book of Verse

Excerpt

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?"

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.

THE LOST PUPPY

Say! little pup,
What's up?
Your tail is down
And out of sight
Between your legs;
Why, that ain't right.
Little pup,
Brace up!
Say! little pup,
Look up!
Don't hang your head
And look so sad,
You're all mussed up,
But you ain't mad.
Little pup,
Cheer up!
Say! little pup,
Stir up!
Is that a string
Around your tail?
And was it fast
To a tin pail?
Little pup,
Git up.
Say! little pup,
Talk up.
Were those bad boys
All after you,
With sticks and stones,
And tin cans, too?
Little pup,
Speak up!
Say! little pup,
Stand up!
Let's look at you;
You'd be all right
If you was scrubbed
And shined up bright.
Little pup,
Jump up!
Say! little pup,
Bark up!
Let's hear your voice.
Say, you're a brick!
Now try to beg
And do a trick.
Little pup,
Sit up!
Say! little pup,
Chime up!
Why, you can sing—
Now come with me;
Let's wash and eat
And then we'll see,
Little pup,
What's up!

Henry Firth Wood.

She sat on the sliding cushion,
The dear, wee woman of four;
Her feet, in their shiny slippers,
Hung dangling over the floor.
She meant to be good; she had promised,
And so with her big, brown eyes,
She stared at the meetinghouse windows
And counted the crawling flies.
She looked far up at the preacher,
But she thought of the honeybees
Droning away at the blossoms
That whitened the cherry trees.
She thought of a broken basket,
Where curled in a dusky heap,
Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears.
Lay snuggled and fast asleep.
Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle,
Such queer little hearts to beat,
Such swift round tongues to kiss,
Such sprawling, cushiony feet;
She could feel in her clasping fingers
The touch of the satiny skin,
And a cold, wet nose exploring
The dimples under her chin....