When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nooding 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 momments of glad grace
And love your beauty with love false or true
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you
And loved the sorrows of your chaning face;
And beding down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fied
And Paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.