Blown out of the prairie in twilight and dew,
Half bold and half timid, yet lazy all through;
Loathe ever to leave, and yet fearful to stay,
He limps in the clearing, an outcast in gray.
A shade on the stubble, a ghost by the wall,
Now leaping, now limping, now risking a fall,
Lop-eared and large jointed, but ever alway
A thoroughly vagabond outcast in gray.
Here, Carlo, old fellow,— he’s one of your kind,—
Go, seek him, and bring him in out of the wind.
What! Snarling, my Carlo! So even dogs may
Deny their own kin in the outcast in gray.
Well, take what you will,— though it be on the sly,
Marauding or begging,— I shall not ask why,
But will call it a dole, just to help on his way
A four-footed friar in orders of gray!