TO BLANCO
My dear, dumb friend, low-lying there,
A willing vassal at my feet,
Glad partner of my home and fare,
My shadow in the street,
I look into your great, brown eyes,
Where love and loyal homage shine,
And wonder where the difference lies
Between your soul and mine.
For all of good that I have found
Within myself, or human kind,
Hath royally informed and crowned
Your gentle heart and mind.
I scan the whole broad earth around
For that one heart which, leal and true,
Bears friendship without end or bound,
And find the prize in you.
I trust you as I trust the stars;
Nor cruel loss, nor scoff, nor pride,
Nor beggary, nor dungeon bars,
Can move you from my side.
As patient under injury
As any Christian saint of old,
As gentle as a lamb with me,
But with your brothers bold.
More playful than a frolic boy,
More watchful than a sentinel,
By day and night your constant joy
To guard and please me well.
I clasp your head upon my breast,
The while you whine, and lick my hand;
And thus our friendship is confessed,
And thus we understand.
Ah, Blanco! Did I worship God
As truly as you worship me,
Or follow where my Master trod
With your humility,
Did I sit fondly at His feet,
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch Him with a love as sweet,
My life would grow divine.
J.G. Holland.