Great poetry of William Wordsworth
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A sketch by William Wordsworth

The little hedgerow 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 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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