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To Rollo

PUPPY, yours a pleasant grave,
    Where the seeding grasses wave !
Now on frolic morns the kitten
Over you, once scratched and bitten—
Still forgiving !—plays alone.
You, who planted many a bone,
Planted now yourself, repose,
Tranquil tail, incurious nose !
Chased no more, the indifferent bee
Drones a sun-steeped elegy.
    Puppy , where long grasses wave.
    Surely yours a pleasant grave !

“Whom the gods love”—was this why,
Rollo, you must early die ?
Cheerless lay the realms of night—
Now your small unconquered sprite
(Still familiar, as with us)
Bites the ears of Cerberus :


                        166 To Rollo

Chases Pluto, Lord of Hell,
Round the fields of asphodel :
Sinks to sleep at last, supine
On the lap of Proserpine !
    While your earthly part shall pass,
    Puppy, into flowers and grass !

MLA citation:

Grahame, Kenneth. “To Rollo.” The Yellow Book, vol. 12, January 1897, pp. 165-166. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Center for Digital Humanities, 2020.