SIRE, your dog Lemon, wont of old to lie On your rich bed, now lies on the hard ground; That faithful dog who, by his instinct, found The skill 'twixt friends and traitors to descry. 'Tis he who robbers frighted by his cry, Foes by his teeth; why then endures this hound Cold, hunger, injury, contempt, and wound, The sure return kings pay to loyalty? His pleasant youth, his beauty, pride, and might To you endeared him, but he caused affright To your base foes by his unyielding rage. Courtiers, who with contemptuous glances greet This dog who died of hunger in the street, Of faith and worth, expect no other wage. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 2 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH NOW CLOSE THE WINDOWS by ROBERT FROST JAZZONIA by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES PHILOSOPHIES by MADELEINE AARON THE DIVINITY by MATTHEW ARNOLD STRUCTURAL IRON WORKERS by MACKNIGHT BLACK |