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. -- I asked him wither he was bound, and what The object of his journey; he replied 'Sir! I am going miles to take A last leave of my son, a mariner, Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth, And there is dying in an hospital. --' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOUSE WITH THE MARBLE STEPS by AMY LOWELL THE CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON DREAM-PEDLARY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES SAPPHO AND PHAON: 2. THE TEMPLE OF CHASTITY by MARY DARBY ROBINSON HERTHA by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 15. ON DOMESTIC MANNERS (UNFINISHED) by MARK AKENSIDE |