I woke and rose and slipt away
To the heathery hills in the morning grey.

In a field where the dew lay cold and deep
I met an ass, new-roused from sleep.

I stroked his nose and I tickled his ears,
And spoke soft words to quiet his fears.

His eyes stared into the eyes of me
And he kissed my hands of his courtesy.

-O big, brown brother out of the waste,
How do thistles for breakfast taste?

-And do you rejoice in the dawn divine
With a heart that is glad no less than mine?

-For, brother, the depth of your gentle eyes
Is strange and mystic as the skies:

-What are the thoughts that grope behind,
Down in the mist of a donkey mind?

-Can it be true, as the wise men tell,
That you are a mask of God as well,

-And, as in us, so in you no less
Speaks the eternal Loveliness,

-And words of the lips that all things know
Among the thoughts of a donkey go?

-However it be, O four-foot brother,
Fair to-day is the earth, our mother.

-God send you peace and delight thereof,
And all green meat of the waste you love,

-And guard you well from violent men
Who-d put you back in the shafts again.�

But the ass had far too wise a head
To answer one of the things I said,

So he twitched his fair ears up and down
And turned to nuzzle his shoulder brown.