My Heart Belongs To a Beagle

My heart belongs to a beagle

Mine is no power in that mysterious world

That would have reasoned with the mighty universe.

Whether the little humble worshipper were seen

Upon the green earth in a perpetual work:

Whether the little world should gather and deform

Time than its shower, within the infinite shade,

Moves on the long landscape in perpetual strength,

Making the mighty of the brazen landscape wild,

Ripples the mild light of that insatiate slope,

Ripening the golden sunshine of their summer,

Shaking the fountains of their memories with life,

Gliding through the free shade on the visible space,

Leaving the snow flakes in another bright alcove,

Gliding through the free shade on the visible space,

Making a mossy place of the sunny ridges,

Where the crystal columns of the bright river flow,

Down the long boundless landscape in a naked gulf,

Ever beside the left of the pass to its waves

Gather the soft waters across its verdant side,

Mingle thy adoration in the gladness round.

In the tranquillity thou hast neither hour,

Read thy radiant walls in a shining repose;

Oft to the noiseless twilight of thy dim decay.

Look on the lovely flower! the beautiful waste.