With thrill of birds adown the dawn there came
A golden arrow through the eastern pass,
And in the gold were eyes of amber flame
That burned upon me from the dewy grass.

A wolf-dog, from some distant rancho strayed,
Had made his bed beneath the pepper-tree;
A great, gray ghost, sore-wounded, lone, afraid,
He growled deep-throated as he glared at me.

With kindly word I lured him from his bed
To proffer food and drink and nearer drew,
But in his eyes I saw affection dead;
'Twas only hate and hunger that he knew.

Poor brute, once brave and fearless as the best,
Faithful to some lost master's kindly hand,
I grieved that I had so disturbed his rest,
As trembling in the sun I saw him stand,

Fearful, and yet assured that in my voice
A friend he knew. He quivered, turned, and then,
As though he had made choice against his choice,
Betook him, limping, to the road again.

Slowly I followed, coaxing, calling, till
The very act of fleeing lent him fear,
Swiftly he climbed the long, low, eastern hill,
Gazed back an instant; turned to disappear;

And still I followed, sick at heart for him,
Sad for the strong, brave brute he once had been,
As in the morning sun my eyes grew dim
To see him stretched again amid the green,

Resting his battered head upon his paws,
Licking his wounds, then glancing wildly round;
Ah, pity that his fear was without cause;
I turned and left him stretched upon the ground

An outcast; but if human love for beast
Has any worth, I prayed that night would send
An easy death. Ah, could he know at least
How much, how much I would have been his friend!