Animal Tranquillity And Decay

William Wordsworth

The little hedgerow birds, 
That peck along the roads, regard him not. 
He travels on, and in his face, his step, 
His gait, is one expression: every limb, 
His look and bending figure, all bespeak 
A man who does not move with pain, but moves 
With thought.--He is insensibly subdued 
To settled quiet: he is one by whom 
All effort seems forgotten; one to whom 
Long patience hath such mild composure given, 
That patience now doth seem a thing of which 
He hath no need. He is by nature led 
To peace so perfect that the young behold 
With envy, what the Old Man hardly feels.

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