THE Secretary was a presence grim, Moody and cold, and full of cares of state; But one there was who, mute, defended him His little dog watched for him at the gate. The Secretary, he became a clod, Pomp and funereal honors, hearse ornate; No friends, no tears but in the sight of God His little dog watched for him at the gate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE: BOOK 1. CANTO 2. PRELUDE: LOVE AT LARGE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE MESSIAH; A SACRED ECLOGUE IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S POLLIO by ALEXANDER POPE ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 1 by ALFRED TENNYSON HE MAKES AN END by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |