Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/93

74 He who was out in the storm and rain Drew back at the Geraldine's call. “Now who comes not in the Holy Name Will never come in at all.”

He looked to the right, he looked to the left, And never a one saw he; But right in his path lay a coal black hound, A-moaning right piteously.

“Come in,” he cried, “you little black hound. Come in, I will ease your pain; My roof shall keep you to-night at least From the leash of wind and rain.”

The Geraldine took up the little black hound, And put him down by the fire. “So sleep you there, poor wandering one. As long as your heart desire.”

The Geraldine tossed on his bed that night, And never asleep went he For the crowing of his little red cock, That did crow most woefully.

For the howling of his own wolf-hound, That cried at the gate all night. He rose and went to the banquet hall At the first of morning light.

He looked to the right, he looked to the left. At the rug which the dog lay on; But the reindeer skin was burnt in two, And the little black hound was gone.

And, traced in the ashes, these words he read: “For the soul of your firstborn son, I will make you rich as you once were rich Ere the glass of your luck was run.”