He lies upon the rug before the fire, His fine old head upon his out-stretched paws His eyes are sad with pride, and lost desire To follow through the winding roads, because He feels the call of woodland's flying feet. He knows he's reached the quiet time of life; No more for him the race, so swift, so fleet, No more for him the lusty call of strife. He is an old dog. Tired. With stiff'ning bones. He drops asleep before the fire, then stirs A leg, or jerks his ears, and faintly moans, As some deep dream of old to him recurs. He wakes as I come near, and wags his tail. He knows, dear dog, our love for him won't fail. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHAPERON by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER IN HOSPITAL: 2. WAITING by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY ROBIN REDBREAST by MOTHER GOOSE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 9. AL-HATHIM by EDWIN ARNOLD SONNET: 14 by RICHARD BARNFIELD TAKE YOUR CHOICE: OR HERE'S GRANTLAND RICE'S METHOD by BERTON BRALEY |