Page:The Single Hound; poems of a lifetime.djvu/108

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With which I tied him, too,

When he was mean and new,

That string was there.

I shrank—"How fair you are!"

Propitiation's claw—

"Afraid," he hissed,

"Of me?"

"No cordiality?"

He fathomed me.

Then, to a rhythm slim

Secreted in his form,

As patterns swim,

Projected him.

That time I flew.

Both eyes his way.

Lest he pursue—

Nor ever ceased to run,

Till, in a distant town,

Towns on from mine—

I sat me down;

This was a dream.