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CYNOTAPHIUM. (2)
#1
CYNOTAPHIUM.

When some dear human friend to death doth bow,
Fair blooming flowers are strewn upon the bier,
And haply, in the silent house, we hear
The last wild kiss ring on the marble brow.
And lips that never miss'd reply till now ;
And thou, poor dog, wert in thy measure dear —
And so I owe thee honour, and the tear
Of friendship, and would all thy worth allow.
In a false w^orld, thy heart was brave and sound ]
So, when my s])ade carved out thy latest lair,
A spot to rest thee on, I sought and found —
It was a tuft of primrose, fresh and fair.
And, as it was thy last hour above ground,
I laid thy sightless head full gently there.


' I cannot think thine all is buried here,'
I said, and sigh'd—the wind awoke and blew
The morning-beam along the gossamer,
That floated o'er thy grave all wet with dew ;
A hint of better things, however slight,
Will feed a loving hope ; it soothed my woe
To watch that little shaft of heavenly light
Pass o'er thee, moving softly to and fro :
Within our Father's heart the secret lies
Of this dim world ; why should we only live
And what was I that I should close mine eyes
On all those rich presumptions, that reprieve
The meanest life from dust and ashes ? Lo !
How much on such dark ground a gleaming thread can do !
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