 | |
| |
| 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; |
| |
| 5 | 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, |
| 10 | Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled |
| And paced upon the mountains overhead |
| And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. |
