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 Only my yellow dwarf; (my servitor and lord!)

 I hear him lift the latch of my door;

 I see his wobbling chin and his unrepentant grin,

 As he lets his oafship in at the door.

 He is low and humped and foul, and shambles like an ape;

 And stealthily he barricades the door,

 Then lays his goblin head against my lonely bed,

 With a “Wolf, wolf, wolf,” at the door!

 I loathe him, but I feed him; I’ll tell you how it was

 (Hear him now with his “Wolf!” at the door!)

 That I ever took him in; he is—he is my kin,

 And kin to the wolf at the door!

 I loathe him, yet he lives; as God lets Satan live,

 I suffer him to slumber at my door,

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 Till that long-looked-for time, that splendid sudden prime,

 When Spring shall go in scarlet by my door.

 That day I will arise, put my heel upon his throat,

 And squirt his yellow blood upon the door;

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