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Remarks To My Grown-up Pup
Fidele's Grassy Tomb
Over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo--
Leo the shaggy, the lustrous, the giant, the gentle Newfoundland.
Dark are his eyes as the night, and black is his hair as the midnight;
Large and slow is his tread till he sees his master returning,
Then how he leaps in the air, with motion ponderous, frightening!
Now, as I pass to my work, I hear o'er the roar of the city--
Far over the roofs of the houses, I hear the barking of Leo;
For me he is moaning and crying, for me in measure sonorous
He raises his marvelous voice, for me he is wailing and calling.
None can assuage his grief, tho' but for a day is the parting,
Tho' morn after morn 'tis the same, tho' home every night comes his
Still will he grieve when we sever, and wild will be his rejoicing
When at night his master returns and lays but a hand on his forehead.
No lack will there be in the world of faith, of love, and devotion,
No lack for me and for mine, while Leo alone is living--
While over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo.
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