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.
Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)
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~Magickal Graphics~
cybershamans (karmapolice) / CC BY-NC-ND 3.0
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