In Memoriam "Rover", Ob. July 2, 1902

My little gentle cat, whose eyes no doveMight ever match for truth and tenderness,Whose life was one long effort to express,In thy mute speech, an overflowing love,The wavering love of women far above,I cannot think that death thy gentilesseHath ended all or that thy fond excessIn this thy ten years' span found scope enough.I cannot credit that no soul in bond,No thought there was behind those wistful eyes,That pleaded for thy dumbness, as one criesOut from Life's dusk into the dark beyond,Nor doubt somewhen beyond the stars to findThe soul that lay those looks of thine behind.