Asking Forgiveness of His Tongueless Head

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• UPDATE! The scope and precision of Richard Wilbur.

THE PARDON

Richard Wilbur

My dog lay dead five days without a grave 

In the thick of summer, hid in a clump of pine 

And a jungle of grass and honey-suckle vine. 

I who had loved him while he kept alive
   

Went only close enough to where he was 

To sniff the heavy honeysuckle-smell 

Twined with another odor heavier still 

And hear the flies' intolerable buzz.
   

Well, I was ten and very much afraid. 

In my kind world the dead were out of range 

And I could not forgive the sad or strange 

In beast or man. My father took the spade
    

And buried him. Last night I saw the grass 

Slowly divide (it was the same scene 

But now it glowed a fierce and mortal green) 

And saw the dog emerging. I confess
   

I felt afraid again, but still he came 

In the carnal sun, clothed in a hymn of flies, 

And death was breeding in his lively eyes. 

I started in to cry and call his name,
   

Asking forgiveness of his tongueless head. 

... I dreamt the past was never past redeeming: 

But whether this was false or honest dreaming 

I beg death's pardon now. And mourn the dead.