The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them. - Mark Twain
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All thought of prowess, valiant deeds and fame
Would leave me on this suffering earth when on
Your lovely face I gazed that glowed and shone
Before me in its simple wooden frame.
But your fate to another you surrendered,
You left, and I... I flung into the night
The cherished ring... Between us all was ended...
Your dear face dimmed and faded from my sight.
The days, cursed swarm, whirled onward, from me fleeing;
I was consumed by passion, numbed by wine...
Once, in my thoughts, in church I seemed to see you,
And called: "Where are you, long lost youth of mine?.."
I called - you never turned; I wept, a deadly
Weight on my heart - you did not see or care.
A blue cloak you threw on and stepped out sadly
Into the waiting night, by rain made drear.
Have you, my dear one, tender one, found solace,
And shelter for your pride?.. My eyes closed tight,
I dream of your blue cloak, remembered always,
In which you walked away into the night.
For ever gone my dreams of fame and passion;
All's in the past - youth, love... They've had their day...
Your picture in its frame, one simply fashioned,
With my own hand I put far, far away.