The little sparrows <br />hop ingenuously <br />about the pavement <br />quarreling <br />with sharp voices <br />over those things <br />that interest them. <br />But we who are wiser <br />shut ourselves in <br />on either hand <br />and no one knows <br />whether we think good <br />or evil. <br />Meanwhile, <br />the old man who goes about <br />gathering dog-lime <br />walks in the gutter <br />without looking up <br />and his tread <br />is more majestic than <br />that of the Episcopal minister <br />approaching the pulpit <br />of a Sunday. <br />These things <br />astonish me beyond words.<br /><br />William Carlos Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pastoral/
