THE Secretary was a presence grim, Moody and cold, and full of cares of state; But one there was who, mute, defended him His little dog watched for him at the gate. The Secretary, he became a clod, Pomp and funereal honors, hearse ornate; No friends, no tears but in the sight of God His little dog watched for him at the gate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD by HAYDEN CARRUTH IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOU by HAYDEN CARRUTH NOT OUR GOOD LUCK by ROBINSON JEFFERS DAT GAL O' MINE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON WITH CHAOS IN EACH KISS by TIMOTHY LIU SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM AND EMILY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |