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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538156" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Croquis</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=538156" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The beach was crowded. Pausing now and then,<br>He groped and fiddled doggedly along,<br>His worn face glaring on the thoughtless throng<br>The stony peevishness of sightless men.<br>He seemed scarce older than his clothes. Again,<br>Grotesquing thinly many an old sweet song,<br>So cracked his fiddle, his hand so frail and wrong,<br>You hardly could distinguish one in ten.<br>He stopped at last, and sat him on the sand,<br>And, grasping wearily his bread-winner,<br>Staring dim towards the blue immensity,<br>Then leaned his head upon his poor old hand.<br>He may have slept: he did not speak nor stir:<br>His gesture spoke a vast despondency.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=William+Ernest+Henley">William Ernest Henley</a></strong></div>