Stern the animal, stubborn ox,
for when it raised that head,
the weight to take a dozen meat hooks,
out weighs the plight in animal thought.
Eyes that envy the scattering field,
see recognition that is this:
It is evening. The sun dies.
The farmer's mongrel dog
is just the farmer's mongrel bitch.
And it barks, only the sound it makes.

The sun dies. Envy for that,
where evening burns the rubicund orange,
and persistent stars, encumbant,
will reach their place
in the absence of his keen knowing.
Let tomorrow of day be
the greatest sympathy, for the ox
contemplates and is more than size.