As William Wordsworth Might Have Sung

I found a ragged peasant boy
Asleep upon the lea;
I said to him, “ My peasant boy,
Now tell how this can be! ”

Said he: “ My father ploughs the fields,
My sister darns the stocking,
My mother scrubs the pots and pans, —
But sir, I fear you’re mocking.

“So here upon this grassy hill
I tend the parish sheep;
You did not find me wide awake
Because I was asleep.”

“ My boy,” cried I, “ you thrill my heart
With joy this very minute,
Since you can spend your time in sleep
Or listen to the linnet.

“You win a greater blessing here
Than any sage can bring,
Or any dried philosopher, —
For here you breathe the Spring.”

But as I spoke he fell asleep
Beneath that budding tree;
I turned away again, and, oh,
The difference to me!