And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
The mower only thought of nature’s beauty – not of impressing others. He too is lonely, and works alone. However, the joy of morning, the possibilities of the new day intoxicate him and awaken his conscious love of life. This love is described as full, spilling over the walls of his heart like too much jam in a jar. 
 He is not trying to console himself by seeking human attention. He is happy to simply be a part of nature. The narrator finds a connection to the mower through their shared solitude and isolation and their mutual recognition of the tuft of flowers.
The Tuft of Flowers