To Hamlet, A Collie

Strange dog, with terror planted in your heart, At your dim root of life a piteous dread Foreboding evil doom, a panic bred Of some fierce shock to puppy nerves! No art Home kindness can devise prevents your start, Wild stare and panting breath at each new tread; Your anxious eyes keep watch, uncomforted By our poor love, too weak to take your part Against that fatal menace which, for us No less than you, lurks in the coming springs. Of all our creeds and dreams incredulous, Thrilled by these sudden agonies, you quake Through all your lithe young body. What should make A collie know the grief of mortal things?