Stifled within, the cool gardens I seek;--
Like poor human souls the flowers all die;
Even the birds are refusing to speak,
Crush'd by the weight of a leaden-gray sky.
Is this the whole of it? is this the end?
Life finish'd off by a heartless Amen?
When will you write to me? when will you send?
When shall I follow you, Harry?--Ah when?
I wander'd far from my hateful abode;
The hour was becoming a little late;
Just there a gate open'd into a road,
And a boy was leaning upon the gate.
Faithful old Rover, who follow'd me out,
Went perfectly frantic beholding this boy,
Sniff'd at his coat, leaping wildly about,
And danced like a dog that dances for joy.
He was a stripling both slender and tall
(My idle eyes vacantly take the view),
His coat was too large, or he was too small,
His nose was a snub, and his eyes were blue.
Angry I felt to see Rover rejoice,
But he suddenly stopp'd, began to quake,
And howl'd in a most deplorable voice,
As if his dog-heart was ready to break.
Then the boy, stooping down, _something_ slipp'd in
(The something was little and square and white)
Between the steel collar and hairy skin,
Saw that I saw it, and so took to flight.
Wagging his tail, a hurrah in each beat,
Expanding his chest with a gesture grand,
Rover ran back to crouch down at my feet,
Licking my eager incredulous hand.
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