LXIII.
             
        Yet pity for a horse o’er-driven,
            And love in which my hound has part,
            Can hang no weight upon my heart
        In its assumptions up to heaven;

        And I am so much more than these,
            As thou, perchance, art more than I,
            And yet I spare them sympathy,
        And I would set their pains at ease.

        So mayst thou watch me where I weep,
            As, unto vaster motions bound,
            The circuits of thine orbit round
        A higher height, a deeper deep.