| WHEN you are old and gray 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; | |
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| How many loved your moments of glad grace, | 5 |
| 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. | |
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| And bending down beside the glowing bars, | |
| Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled | 10 |
| And paced upon the mountains overhead, | |
| And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. |
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