We Meet At Morn

WE MEET AT MORN
by Hardwicke Drummond Rawnsley

Still half in dream, upon the stair I hear
A patter coming nearer and more near,
And then upon my chamber door
A gentle tapping,
For dogs, though proud, are poor,
And if a tail will do to give command
Why use a hand?
And after that a cry, half sneeze, half yapping,
And next a scuffle on the passage floor.
And then I know the creature lies to watch
Until the noiseless maid will lift the latch.
And like a spring
That gains its power by being tightly stayed,
The impatient thing
Into the room
Its whole glad heart doth fling,
And ere the gloom
Melts into light, and window blinds are rolled,
I hear a bounce upon the bed,
I feel a creeping toward me - a soft head,
And on my face
A tender nose, and cold -
This is the way, you know, that dogs em-
brace
And on my hand, like sun-warmed rose-leaves
flung,
The least faint flicker of the warmest tongue 

- And so my dog and I have met and sworn
Fresh love and fealty for another morn.