When you are old

 

 

When you are old

 

When you are old and grey and full of sleep

And nodding by the fire, take this book

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and 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 peace upon the moutains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

 

W.B.Yeats

 

 
 
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