27
I envy not the dog that bites
Without regard for friend or foe,
Who cares not for another’s woe
But only for his own delights;
Nor do I envy any hound
That, feckless, never sought a mate
I do not envy him his fate,
To lie e’er mateless in the ground.
So never will I quail nor bawl
Nor whine nor cavil at the cost;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have lost at all.
