Some days the faces in the street
Are clouded all, and dull;
And near or far, not one I see
To call it beautiful.
O heavy, heavy is my heart;
And is the spirit blind?
That I am stricken with a doubt,
Because of human kind.
Until I rest my looks upon
Some cart-horse standing by,
With patient forehead, weary mane,
And unreproachful eye.
And kiss him on the brow I do!—
Because I have a mind
To thank him just that he will be
So beautiful, and kind.