To Hamlet, a Collie
Strange dog, with terror planted in your heart,
At your dim root of life a piteous dread
Foreboding evil doom, a panic bred
Of some fierce shock to puppy nerves! No art
Home kindness can devise prevents your start,
Wild stare and panting breath at each new tread;
Your anxious eyes keep watch, uncomforted
By our poor love, too weak to take your part
Against that fatal menace which, for us
No less than you, lurks in the coming springs.
Of all our creeds and dreams incredulous,
Thrilled by these sudden agonies, you quake
Through all your lithe young body. What should make
A collie know the grief of mortal things?