Sunday, September 14, 2008

A poem

When You are Old

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.

W.B. Yeats


Mimi said...

I love this poem.

MaureenE said...

Me too. In fact, I named my LJ after it. (A Pilgrim Soul) I'm one of those lucky people who enjoys Yeats in both his early and late periods.