Animal Tranquillity and Decay 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
Long patience hat 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