When you are old.

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 of you.
And loved the sorrows of you changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur,
a little sadly,
how love fled.

And paced upon the mountain overhead.
And hid his face amid a crow of stars.