To an English Sheep-Dog

Old Dog, what times we had, you, she and I,
Since first you came and with your trustful air
Blundered into her lap — a valiant, shy.
Small tub-shaped woolly bear.

What lovely days we had; how fast they flew
In hill-side ramblings, gallopings by the sea:
You grew too large for laps but never grew
Too large for loyalty.

We have known friends who living passed away —
Your faith no man could turn, no passion kill;
Even when Death called, you would scarce obey
Until you knew our will.

Out in the fields I bore you in my arms,
Dear Thick-coat, on your grave the grasses spring;
But He that sees no sparrow meets with harms
Hath your soul's shepherding.

And will that King who knows all hearts and ways
Kennel you where the winds blow long and fair
That you who ever loathed the warm still days
May snuff an upland air?

And will He let you scamper o'er the meads
Where His hills close their everlasting ranks,
And show you pools that mirror gray-green reeds
To cool your heaving flanks?

And will He fill you with good things at even,
Bringing the bowl with His own hands maybe?
And will you, hunting in your dreams in Heaven,
Dream that you hunt with me?

Yes, you will not forget; and when we come,
What time or by what gate we may not tell.
Hastening to meet our friend that men called dumb
Across the ditch of Hell,

You'll hear — you first of all — oh, strong and fleet.
How you will dash, an arrow to the mark!
Lord, but there'll be deaf angels when we meet —
And you leap up and bark!