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Unto man’s spirit thou art closely bound
By natural drift and consanguinity,
But more by long companionship, the tie
That holds you twain together tightly wound
First in his infancy, where thou art found
Like some great watchdog that doth panting lie
Stretched by his infant master, his dull eye
Wakeful, his sharp ear cocked at every sound.
Nay, for the bond is closer, ’twas thy face
Bent over him at birth; thy kindly pains
Steadied his childish feet. Nor can we trace
What in his blood derives not from thy veins
By long transfusion unprecipitate,
Alive, organically intimate.
Hesepe, 19th July