HE fareth in a joyous wise Where runs the road 'neath gentle skies -- How should his canine heart surmise That where the red-roofed towers rise The blood is red upon the slab? His way is warm with sunlight yet, He knoweth not the sun must set; And he hath in the roadway met The Ladye of the Lab. How should he read her face aright? Upon her brow the hair is bright, Within her eyes a tender light, Her luring hands are lily-white, Tho' blood be red upon the slab; Her calling voice is siren-sweet, -- He crouches fawning at her feet, -- It is a fatal thing to meet The Ladye of the Lab! And she hath ta'en him with a string To where the linnets never sing, Where stiff and still is everything, And there a heart lies quivering When blood is red upon the slab; O little dog that wandered free! And hath she done this thing to thee? How may she work her will with me, -- The Ladye of the Lab! |