When you are old and gray and full of sleep  

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
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And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
　
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep；

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How many loved your moments of glad grace,
　
And loved your beauty with love false or true；
　
But one man loved the pilgrim[1]soul in you,
　
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

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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.
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