The poet became sentimental while listening to Ernest. His words had power because they had depth. They were the words of life, a life of good deeds and selfless love. The poet felt that the life and character of Ernest were of a nobler strain of poetry than that of what he had ever written. His eyes filled with tears and he said to himself that never was there so worthy a sage as that thoughtful face, with the glim of white hair diffused about it.