Epitaph upon a Dog

An ear that caught my slightest tone,
In kindness or in anger spoken;
An eye that ever watch'd my own,
In vigils death alone has broken;
Its changeless, ceaseless, and unbought
Affection to the last revealing;
Beaming almost with human thought,
And more — far more than human feeling!
Can such in endless sleep be chill'd,
And mortal pride disdain to sorrow,
Because the pulse that here was still' d
May wake to no immortal morrow?
Can faith, devotedness, and love,
That seem to humbler creatures given
To tell us what we owe above, —
The types of what is due to Heaven, —
Can these be with the things that were,
Things cherish'd — but no more returning,
And leave behind no trace of care,
No shade that speaks a moment's mourning'?