O jewel of my heart, I sing your praise, br Though you who are, alas! of middle age br Have never been to school, and cannot read br The weary printed page. br br I sing your eyes, two pools in shadowed streams, br Where your soul shines in depths of sunny brown, br Alertly raised to read my every mood br Or thoughtfully cast down. br br I sing the little nose, so glossy wet, br The well-trained sentry to your eager mind, br So swift to catch the delicate, glad scent br Of rabbits on the wind. br br Ah, fair to me your wheaten-colored coat, br And fair the darker velvet of your ear, br Ragged and scarred with old hostilities br That never taught you fear. br br But O! your heart, where my unworthiness br Is made perfection by love's alchemy; br How often does your doghood's faith cry shame br To my inconstancy. br br At last I know the hunter Death will come br And whistle low the call you must obey. br So you will leave me, comrade of my heart, br To take a lonely way. br br Some tell me, Tim, we shall not meet again, br But for their Loveless Logic need we care? -- br If I should win to Heav'n's gate I know br You will be waiting there.