When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nod off by the fire, take down this book,
And read it slow, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shades wrapped deep;

How all the men loved to watch your glad grace,
And loved your looks with love that's false or true,
But one man loved the Soul that changed in you,
And loved the sad thoughts as they changed your face;

And, bent down next to the flame lit bars,
Speak soft, and a bit sad, of how Love fled
And paced on the high hills past the head
And hid his face in all the crowd of stars.

                                -- Will Yeats

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