And a plaintive sniff at the passerby,
That begged as plain as tongue could sue,
“Oh, mister, please may I follow you?”
A lorn wee waif of tawny brown
Adrift in the roar of a heedless town.
Oh, the saddest of sights in a world of sin
Is a little lost pup with his tail tucked in.
Well, he won my heart (for I set great store
On my own red Brute—who is here no more),
So I whistled clear, and he trotted up,