I sweep through the rooms where the mirrors portray
  A slender young thing in a robe of pale gray,
  And catching quick glimpses, now here and now there,
  I own with delight she is graceful and fair;
  I study the creature, and smile as I see
  How handsome a woman one day she may be;
  I draw myself up with a stately expanse
  And try to look grand, while I’m longing to dance;
  I flourish, I curtsey, I slip and I slide;—­
  This will do for a wife, this is fit for a bride. 
  I smile and I bow, in a dignified way,
  And even shake hands with the lady in gray;
  Then draw back astonish’d, afraid to offend,
  It is all a mistake, and she is not a friend. 
  In a moment sweeps over the vision a change
  Deliciously sweet and suddenly strange,
  A blush in the cheek and a light in the eyes;—­
  A step in the passage, to meet it she flies,
  And still in the mirror I mark the embrace,
  Where the strong manly arms hide the small blushing face.

  When the sun rises early to call people out,
  There is nothing so sweet as to wander about,
  A hand on an arm or an arm round a waist,
  In lover-like leisure or holiday haste. 
  Then, all is delightful we see or we hear,
  And speaking or silence are equally dear;
  The earth at our feet of an emerald hue,
  The Heaven above us incredibly blue,
  The flowers baptiz’d with miraculous dew.

  While yet the sky blushes to welcome the sun,
  Through the gay gardens we stroll and we run;
  In fields where lambs gambol less happy than we,
  Glittering grass makes a sheen like the sea;
  Birds unexpectedly set up a chant,
  Adding a joy that the world seem’d to want. 
  Creation is made for our pleasure alone: 
  Adam and Eve, with no sin to atone,
  Knowledge untasted, less rapture have known!

Keeping by Harry, a friend who is fond Follows as closely as follow he can:  Is there an earthly affection beyond The love a good dog feels for a good man?

  If twenty people fling down twenty gloves
  Our Rover has never been known to fail;
  He picks out the glove of the man he loves,
  And brings it triumphantly, wagging his tail.

  Rover and I, under shadowy yew,
  List’ning for Harry’s dear step on the path—­
  He always hears it the first of the two,
  Which gives me a feeling half joy, half wrath.

  By divers states can our spirits be mov’d
  Our hearts will answer to many a touch;
  We love one creature for being much lov’d,
  And we love another for loving much.

  By delicate touches our souls are stirr’d,
  Fraught with a meaning life never reveals: 
  I wonder the Bible says not a word
  Of the faithful love that a good dog feels.

  Good are the mornings for birds in a nest,
  Fluttering out from a beautiful home;
  Good are the mornings, but evenings are best,
  Seeking its shelter nor asking to roam.