Man with a Black Dog

The first commotion stirred him to offend, forgivably, with friendly leaps and clutching; but soon too urgent friendliness was wrought by a new wave of guests. At last I complained to that one man that it was indecent of him to tempt the beast so, pressing his tweed knee against the furry brisket. But he smiled, and spoke with a Rhinelandish accent: Milady, your youth, as mine did me, tends you now to the younger beliefs of men, their naive symbols: cloudy animal heads to represent witless rampages of glands. Egyptian Hershef, Seth, Ra—the romance of anonymity above the neck and smooth humanity below—were gods of early hankering and youthful conscience. See how the shaggy thing turns back his ears; the straining mouth and eyes’ protuberance leave me my steady vision and clear speech and mind. The aegipans, surely the centaurs are truer concepts of the dual beast and a maturer Hellas sculpted them: potentially ironic man above and hairy vitality below the waist. No one, Milady, no lover on earth does other than what I am doing now, methodically tempting the brute, till from the dim sheath an eager lick of flame darts forth.