When you are old

W. B. Yeats, 1865-1939

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 amid a crowd of stars.