Rover and I, under shadowy yew,
List'ning for Harry's dear step on the path--
He _always_ hears it the first of the two,
Which gives me a feeling half joy, half wrath.
By divers states can our spirits be mov'd
Our hearts will answer to many a touch;
We love one creature for being much lov'd,
And we love another for loving much.
By delicate touches our souls are stirr'd,
Fraught with a meaning life never reveals:
I wonder the Bible says not a word
Of the faithful love that a good dog feels.
Good are the mornings for birds in a nest,
Fluttering out from a beautiful home;
Good are the mornings, but evenings are best,
Seeking its shelter nor asking to roam.
Life, like a secret, is too much for one--
May be too little where numbers are great--
All _may_ be vanity under the sun,
But all _is_ charming when done _tete a tete_.
Neighbours _will_ call--what a trouble it is!
Dinners and parties are made for our sake:
Why must society trouble our bliss?
Dinners and neighbours are quite a mistake!
Drest as a bride, I must dine at the Grange;
Harry beside me, I have not a care;
Only it seems so exceedingly strange
Not to be thinking of meeting him there!
Jane does my hair with a skill, I confess,
Smilingly thinking of days that are gone,
When for a party I ran up to dress
With neither a husband nor maid of my own.
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