~William Butler Yates
When you are old and gray
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 among a crowd of stars.
