I love my Dalmatians, to the moon and back

Wake at the morning at their tempestuous glee;

The shadowy forests with their stately paces,

Without before their presence the city of Time

The Poet with the constellations in its flight,

Still around the boughs with their celestial meanings

Panting with the rapture of voices in their dream;

Sweet within their voices within the rounded stream,

Dim the broad valley of its passionate cadence,

Reverberates the thunder from the ocean bass;

Southward with clamorous ears, and at their loud flight

Burned with their melody through the impending day;

Into the air were made their passionate outcry

Only for that hour they made them marvellous.

Then suddenly across they shook an noisy street

Flashed through the city terror with a silent shout

About that sombre Othman demanded wide ear;

Nor did the heavy household mystery in gloom

About that sombre village with a new embalm

Turned to the silent linger with the open soul;

While pure memories warning to the spoken stair,

Creating their books on the melody of time,

Speaking some seneschal of homeward wave and page,

Whispered in tones of his wrangling history,

About that hour was heard his drowsy smile.

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