Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/158

98 Stopped short,—and thence, at leisure, limb by limb

Perused him with a gay complacency.

Ay, thought the Vicar, smiling to himself,

'Tis one of those who needs must leave the path

Of the world's business to go wild alone:

His arms have a perpetual holiday;

The happy Man will creep about the fields

Following his fancies by the hour, to bring

Tears down his cheeks, or solitary smiles

Into his face, until the setting sun

Write Fool upon his forehead. Planted thus

Beneath a shed that overarched the gate

Of this rude church-yard, till the stars appeared

The good man might have communed with himself,

But that the stranger, who had left the grave,

Approached; he recognized the Priest at once,

And, after greetings interchanged, and given

By Leonard to the Vicar as to one

Unknown to him, this dialogue ensued.

.

You live, Sir, in these dales, a quiet life:

Your years make up one peaceful family;

And who would grieve and fret, if, welcome come

And welcome gone, they are so like each other,

They cannot be remembered? Scarce a funeral