My dog creeps into my shadowed form, And takes my foot to rest his head; It is his love of me, I know, That warms his cold, hard bed. Women have died of broken hearts, And men have reached the same disaster; But the likeliest thing to die is a dog That waits for its dead Master. The King is dead, by millions mourned, That bared their heads, or wept, or sighed; The dog, that waited for him in vain, Has broken its heart, and died. So end two lives, and one so small a thing — It never knew its Master was a King. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO-MORROW TO FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW' by AMY LOWELL IF HE SHOULD COME by EDWIN MARKHAM SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION HOLY SONNET: SATIRE 3. ON RELIGION by JOHN DONNE OUR COUNTRY by JULIA WARD HOWE TWENTY GOLDEN YEARS AGO by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN WRITTEN IN BUTLER'S SERMONS by MATTHEW ARNOLD EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 32. THERE'S NO DEFENCE AGAINST LOVE by PHILIP AYRES |