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 shadow 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 sorrow 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.