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 love your beauty with love false or true。
But one man love the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrow of your charming face And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly,
how love fled And paled upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.