SONNET XXXVII

Within a valley's entrance, in a desert,
Where none pass through nor leave this barren setting,
I saw, though strange it seemed, a dog was fretting;
In pain he cried, in agony bewildered,

To open skies he hurls his dirge untethered,
And now along the path he tracks, retreading;
He ambles on, he turns, he stops, and yet he
Retains the ashen pallor of cadavers.

And this because his master left his presence;
He cannot find his master, this he senses;
Behold how far the reach of painful absence.

To see his hardship moved me to compassion;
In pity I exhorted him: Have patience,
For I can fathom reason and am absent.