‘Come over here’, said Turnbull, ‘till you see the sorrow
In the horse’s eyes.
Had you such heavy hooves as these for feet, there would
Be sorrow in your eyes too.’
And it was clear to me, that he’d realised the sorrow
In the horse’s eyes so well,
So deeply had he contemplated it, that he was steeped
In the horse’s mind.
I looked at the horse, that I might see the sorrow
Steadfast in its eyes,
And saw the eyes of Turnbull looking at me
From the horse’s head.
I looked at Turnbull; I looked at him again,
And saw in that face of his
The over-big eyes that were dumb with sorrow –
The horse’s eyes.