'Grotesque!' we said, the moment we espied him, <br />For there he stood, supreme in his conceit, <br />With short ears close together and queer feet <br />Planted irregularly: first we tried him <br />With jokes, but they were lost; we then defied him <br />With bantering questions and loose criticism: <br />He did not like, I'm sure, our catechism, <br />But whisked and snuffed a little as we eyed him. <br /> <br />Then flung we balls, and out and clear away, <br />Up the white slope, across the crusted snow, <br />To where a broken fence stands in the way, <br />Against the sky-line, a mere row of pegs, <br />Quicker than thought we saw him flash and go, <br />A straight mad scuttling of four crooked legs.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dog-3/
