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 Love your beauty with false or true,
But one woman loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face,
Bending down besides the glowing bars,
Murmur,a litle sadly how love fled,
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars...
