A single hound howls far off, sending its loneliness into dark woods, dark hills, and a darker sea. Then the sea itself seems to answer—a wilder, lonelier voice calling back to the solitary stars. The kennelled hound, hearing that other cry, finds a strange comfort: it is not the only lonely creature in the night, so it sleeps, even though the stars above offer no real warmth. But the sea-hound remains unkennelled and unneighboured, howling all night across the cold, comfortless water. The mood is hushed and melancholy, full of vast darkness and isolated voices. There is tenderness in the idea that shared loneliness can soothe, yet the poem also insists that some loneliness—wild and elemental—cannot be comforted at all.
The Hounds — Summary
Far off a lonely hound Telling his loneliness all round To the dark woods, dark hills, and darker sea;
And, answering, the sound Of that yet lonelier sea-hound Telling his loneliness to the solitary stars.
Hearing, the kennelled hound Some neighbourhood and comfort found, And slept beneath the comfortless high stars.
But that wild sea-hound Unkennelled, called all night all round-- The unneighboured and uncomforted cold sea.