YEATS

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 　　
 Yours eyes had once,and of their shadows 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 sorrows 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 .