TO MOMOTARO, MY PUG 
T T UED like the full moon of the apricot, 
-*• -*■ Save where the signs of high descent are set— 
Sleek ears and velvet muzzle dark as jet, 
On either cheek a sable beauty-spot; 
I watch thee prancing round the garden-plot, 
Marvelling why I harbour such a pet, 
So vain, so filled with frowardness—and yet 
Pleasant thou art, and happy in thy lot. 
Food, slumber, play,—what more is there to ask? 
From soundest sleep still starting, brisk, elate, 
At faintest clamour of a clattered plate; 
Thine the smooth lawns whereon to frisk or bask; 
Pert little snub-nosed favourite of Fate, 
Puck playing truant in Apollyon’s mask. 
