To-morrow I will cry for gains

Upon the blue and brazen sky.

The precious venom in my veins

To-morrow will be parched and dry.

To-morrow it shall be my goal

To throw myself away from me,

To lose the outline of my soul

Against the greyness of the sea.

THE DOG TUPMAN

Oh little friend of half my days,

My little friend, who followed me

Along those crooked sullen ways

That only you had eyes to see.

You felt the same. You understood

You too, defensive and morose,

Encloaked your secret puppyhood—

Your secret heart—and hid them close.

For I alone have seen you serve,

Disciple of those early springs,

With ears awry and tail a-curve

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