Darkness and stars will come, and long the night will be, Yet imperturbable that house will rest, Avoiding gallantly the stars' chill scrutiny, Ignoring secrets in the midnight's breast. Thunders may shudder it, and winds demoniac May howl their menaces, and hail descend; Yet it will bear with them, serenely, steadfastly, Not even scornfully, and wait the end. And all a universe of nameless messengers From unknown distances may whisper fear, And it will imitate immortal permanence, And stare and stare ahead and scarcely hear. It stood there yesterday; it will to-morrow, too, When there is none to watch, no alien eyes To watch its ugliness assume a majesty From this great solitude of evening skies. So lone, so very small, with worlds and worlds around, While life remains to it prepared to outface Whatever awful unconjectured mysteries May hide and wait for it in time and space. TO A BULL-DOG (W. H. S., Capt. [Acting Major] R. F. A.; killed, April 12, 1917) We shan't see Willy any more, Mamie, He won't be coming any more: He came back once and again and again, But he won't get leave any more. We looked from the window and there was his cab, And we ran downstairs like a streak, And he said, 'Hullo, you bad dog,' and you crouched to the floor, Paralysed to hear him speak, And then let fly at his face and his chest Till I had to hold you down, While he took off his cap and his gloves and his coat, And his bag and his thonged Sam Browne. We went upstairs to the studio, The three of us, just as of old, And you lay down and I sat and talked to him As round the room he strolled. Here in the room where, years ago Before the old life stopped, He worked all day with his slippers and his pipe, He would pick up the threads he'd dropped, Fondling all the drawings he had left behind, Glad to find them all still the same, And opening the cupboards to look at his belongings ... Every time he came. But now I know what a dog doesn't know, Though you'll thrust your head on my knee, And try to draw me from the absent-mindedness That you find so dull in me. And all your life you will never know What I wouldn't tell you even if I could, That the last time we waved him away Willy went for good. But sometimes as you lie on the hearthrug Sleeping in the warmth of the stove, Even through your muddled old canine brain Shapes from the past may rove. You'll scarcely remember, even in a dream, How we brought home a silly little pup, With a big square head and little crooked legs That could scarcely bear him up, But your tail will tap at the memory Of a man whose friend you were, Who was always kind though he called you a naughty dog When he found you on his chair; Who'd make you face a reproving finger And solemnly lecture you Till your head hung downwards and you looked very sheepish: And you'll dream of your triumphs too,