William Butler Yeats, (1869-1939) When you are old and gray 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 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 .