My books…

Sadly as some old medieval knight
Gazed at the arms he could no longer
The sword two-handed and the shining
Suspended in the hall, and full in sight,
While secret longings for the lost delight
Of tourneys or adventure in the field
Came over him, and tears but half con-
Trembled and fell upon his beard of
So I behold these books upon their shelf,
My ornaments and arms of other days;
Not wholly useless, though no longer
For they remind me of my other self,
Younger and stronger, and the pleasant
In which I walked, now clouded and

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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