Classic Poem

The morn of life is past,
And evening comes at last;
It brings me a dream of a once happy day,
Of merry forms I've seen
Upon the village green,
Sporting with my old dog Tray.
Old dog Tray's ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,
He's gentle, he is kind;
I'll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.

The forms I call'd my own
Have vanished one by one,
The lov'd ones, the dear ones have all passed away,
Their happy smiles have flown,
Their gentle voices gone;
I've nothing left but old dog Tray.
Old dog Tray's ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away;
He's gentle, he is kind;
I'll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.