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...THE BRIDGE: 7. THE TUNNEL by HAROLD HART CRANE THEOLOGY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR BRAID CLAITH by ROBERT FERGUSSON SHUT OUT by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE FUNERAL TREE OF THE SOKOKIS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |