This dog is no puppy dog   She's strange as the trees   She's brown as the mountain   And white as the breeze      She walks on the water   Without any boots   Her eyes arc as fine   As the music of flutes      But she will not sweep chimneys   Nor will she pluck corn   But she is the best little dog   That ever was born      I have lain in the womb   Of the rocks, cold and chill   While she speaks in my heart   With the voice of the hill      And when I am risen   And ready to run   She will laugh without laughter   To welcome the sun      But she will not learn language   Nor will she bear scorn   But she is the best little dog   That ever was born      The water God offered me   The ring of his rings   To buy the dog from me   To teach the poor kings      The ring's on my finger   The dog runs behind   Since watery palaces   Would never suit her mind      But as yet she can't fly well   Nor play on the horn   Still she is the best little dog   That ever was born