The little hedge-row birds,
That peck along the road, 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 has 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.
This meditative poem on the nature of another human being delivers itself up to the reader all composure, detachment and respect. Whilst nature goes along without paying him an ounce of unique attention the poet seems to have singled out this special figure travelling through a landscape, transcending(or so the poet observes) the physical limitations of pain and the aging body.
‘ A man who does not move with pain,but moves
With thought –‘