Wordsworthian AWARENESS

by bryan maynard

But who is He, with modest looks, 
And clad in homely russet brown? 
He murmurs near the running brooks 
A music sweeter than their own.
 
The outward shows of sky and earth, 
Of hill and valley, he has viewed; 
And impulses of deeper birth 
Have come to him in solitude. 
 
In common things that round us lie 
Some random truths he can impart,– 
The harvest of a quiet eye 
That broods and sleeps on his own heart. 
 
But he is weak; both Man and Boy, 
Hath been an idler in the land; 
Contented if he might enjoy 
The things which others understand
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