Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/378

 378 THE SPECTRAL ARMY

TO A DOG

AST happiness dissolves. It fades away,

Ghost-like, in that dim attic of the mind

To which the dreams of childhood are consigned.

Here, withered garlands hang in slow decay,

And trophies glimmer in the dying ray

Of stars that once with heavenly glory shined.

But you old friend, are you still left behind

To tell the nearness of life's yesterday?