Broken Hearts

My dog creeps into my shadowed form,

And takes my foot to rest his head;

It is his love of me, I know,

That warms his cold, hard bed.

Women have died of broken hearts,

And men have reached the same disaster;

But the likeliest thing to die is a dog

That waits for its dead master.

The King is dead , by millions mourned,

That bared their heads, or wept, or sighed;

The dog, that waited for him in vain,

Has broken its heart, and died.

So ends two lives, and ones so small a thing-

It never knew its Master was a King.