To My Dog

My dear! When I leave you
I always drop a bit of me —
A holy glove or sainted shoe —
Your wistful corse I leave it to,
For all your soul has followed me —
How could I have the stony heart
So to abandon you!

My dear! When you leave me
You drop no glove, no sainted shoe;
And yet you know what humans be —
Mere blocks of dull monstrosity!
My spirit cannot follow you
When you're away, with all its heart
As yours can follow me.

My dear! Since we must leave
(One sorry day) I you, you me;
I'll learn your wistful way to grieve;
Then through the ages we'll retrieve
Each other's scent and company;
And longing shall not pull my heart —
As now you pull my sleeve!
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