when you are old
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 book
you eyes had once ,and of their shadows deep
how many loved your monments of glad grace
and loved your beauty with love false or ture
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 loved fled
and paced upon the mountains overhead
and hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
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