Classic Poem

'Twas not for special beauty,
Though beautiful was he,
Nor yet in reverent honor
Of a stainless pedigree,
That reached across the ocean,
Through twice a century.

But for love that ever listened
To affection's lightest breath,
For a faithfulness that glistened
In the very haze of death,
That our cedars droop their shadows,
And our jasmines twine a wreath.

Under the great Deodar
There lies a little mound—
As beneath some proud pagoda
A prince might slumber sound,
In the verdure and the odor
Of consecrated ground—
And a hand hath written “Gelert”
In honor of a hound.