Poems (Argent)/My Dog and I
MY DOG AND I
YOU laugh, my friends, no matter, since we care Not for the smile or frown of any man,On us your words fall just as light as air, What is't to us, my little black and tan?
Some folks grow cold and turn a chilly face And keep not troth, nor heart warmth fair and sweet,One tires, and mournfully we learn to trace This certain change when meeting in the street.
Not so with you, my truest of true friends; No change you show of feeling any way,Always the same kind eye upon me bends And the quick footsteps greet me night and day.
Some folks grow strangely still and will not speak,— Forgive a friend who loved them years ago,—Not though a blush or teardrop stain the cheek, They will not see, nor kind forbearance show.
Not so with you, my faithful dog, you give A kiss for blow and straightway if you canBreathe more devotion every day you live, And this is love, my little black and tan.
My dog and I have trudged these many years— Together roamed the silent streets at night,—And sadly mused on man, the world's deep tears, And turned from them to other scenes more bright;
And in the forest trod the sunny aisles 'Twixt leaf and fretwork of the stately trees,That 'neath blue heavens basked in radiant smiles, O'er many lands stemmed in by surging seas.
Match me his equal, any one who will; His courage, temper, gratitude so deep,His soft brown eyes that look upon me still And love me always if I smile or weep.
Who was it sat beside me when I lay Weary and sick upon a lonely bed;And scarcely moved but watched there night and day And on my pillow leaned a tireless head?
And when downstairs again once more I crept, Who met me first and to my sofa ran,And licked my hand as there I laid and wept, But you, my grateful little black and tan?
Together always, never mind what fate, True comrades! you may match me, if you can,A friend like this, I care not what his state, And I will love him like my black and tan!
Oh! little creature, dumb four-footed friend, I think you shame us, we who are so wise,And yet so weak and blindfold to the end, As frail and fickle as the changeful skies.
You shame us, for revenge you do not know, But love one always though we beat you sore,And speak harsh words, perchance with kick or blow, And yet for each you seem to love us more.
Therefore, my friends, laugh on and fling your jest; No matter, since we care not any way;Lightly your words fall, and you know the rest, That come what will, "a dog must have his day!"