And as I lingered watching them,
I felt a tugging at my hem;
My little dog was cowering there,
A glassy terror in its stare;
My veins turned ice—O smacking lips,
O dainty greedy finger-tips!
’Twas bones of Hungry Heart they ate,
Broken and boiled and delicate,
Platter on platter the board along,
And as they supped they sang a song: