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 We parted where the old gas-lamp still burned 
Under the wayside maple and walked on, 
Into the dark, as we had always done; 
And I, no doubt, if he had not returned, 
Might yet be unaware that he had earned 
More than earth gives to many who have won 
More than it has to give when they are gone-- 
As duly and indelibly I learned.
The sum of all that he came back to say Was little then, and would be less today: With him there were no Delphic heights to climb, Yet his were somehow nearer the sublime.
He spoke, and went again by the old way-- Not knowing it would be for the last time.

Poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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