Classic Poem

Little companion of my solitude,
If you could hear, and know, and understand
The thought and impulse of this tribute rude,
Reared in rough measures by your master's hand,
I well can guess how you would look at me,
And thank me with those great brown loving eyes,
Then, glad of recognition, leap in glee,
And coax me off to play with puppy cries.

You could not know that you were showing forth
What made your little life a holy thing:
A simple love that asked not worth for worth,
And claimed small tribute for its offering.
A look, a smile, a word, a fond caress;
With these your faithful love was satisfied.
I give you credit (I can do no less) —
My love is nobler that you lived — and died.