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...CONTRA MORTEM: THE MOUNTAIN FASTNESS by HAYDEN CARRUTH SPRING NOTES FROM ROBIN HILL by HAYDEN CARRUTH ENVOYS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MATE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SORROWING LOVE by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |