For she so young and fair, yet never thinking
How fair, gives promise of more wondrous grace,
With kind grey eyes from wells of sunshine drinking,
Set in a perfect face.
I, Blacky, am her slave, well-groomed and sightly,
Who loves—nay life without it were a blank—
The feeling of her habit flapping lightly
Against my shining flank.
I am her willing slave; in doing blindly
Her smallest pleasure lies my pleasure too,