W. Cowper.
[ TO FLUSH, MY DOG]
Loving friend, the gift of one, Who her own true faith hath run Through thy lower nature; Be my benediction said With my hand upon thy head, Gentle fellow-creature!
Like a lady’s ringlets brown, Flow thy silken ears adown Either side demurely, Of thy silver-suited breast Shining out from all the rest Of thy body purely.
Darkly brown thy body is, Till the sunshine, striking this, Alchemise its dulness,— When the sleek curls manifold Flash all over into gold, With a burnished fulness.
Underneath my stroking hand, Startled eyes of hazel bland Kindling, growing larger,— Up thou leapest with a spring, Full of prank and curvetting, Leaping like a charger.
Leap! thy broad tail waves a light; Leap! thy slender feet are bright, Canopied in fringes. Leap—those tasselled ears of thine Flicker strangely, fair and fine, Down their golden inches.
Yet, my pretty sportive friend, Little is’t to such an end That I praise thy rareness! Other dogs may be thy peers Haply in these drooping ears, And this glossy fairness.
But of thee it shall be said, This dog watched beside a bed Day and night unweary,— Watched within a curtained room, Where no sunbeam brake the gloom Round the sick and dreary.