When You Are Old

starry starry night

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire,

Take down this book

And slowly read and dream

Of the soft look your eyes had once,

And of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man

Loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down

Beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly,

How love fled,

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William B. Yeats