Dürer has drawn him resting by the way...
Has he returned from some far pilgrimage?
Or just come out into the light of day
From a dark hermit's cell? We cannot know...
With stooping shoulders, and with head bent low
Over his book—and pointed hood drawn down.
His eager eyes devour the printed page...
Regardless of the little lovely town
Rising behind him, with its clustered towers...
O Saint, look up! and see how gay and fair
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