His Name Was Bob
A little mongrel dog — he couldn't boast
The smallest trace of blooded pedigree —
All legs and feet, a no'count tail, that thumped
Its joyous greeting at the sight of me —
But loving! There's no dictionary prints
The word which, to my thinking, can express
That look that shone in his brown eyes of trust,
Solicitude and wistful tenderness!
O' nights his tawny head against my knee,
We'd sit together — yesterday he died —
And every one who loves a dog will know
Just why, a lonely-hearted man — I cried!
The smallest trace of blooded pedigree —
All legs and feet, a no'count tail, that thumped
Its joyous greeting at the sight of me —
But loving! There's no dictionary prints
The word which, to my thinking, can express
That look that shone in his brown eyes of trust,
Solicitude and wistful tenderness!
O' nights his tawny head against my knee,
We'd sit together — yesterday he died —
And every one who loves a dog will know
Just why, a lonely-hearted man — I cried!
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