When you are old and weak and lack of sleep
And opening eyes wide under the lamp,
Take down this book, and slowly read,
And recollect the days of your youth look
 Your eyes had once, and of the shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your lordliness with love false or true;
But one woman loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your aging face.

And bending down beside the lonely bed,
Murmur, with little unsure, how love fled
And paced upon the sky overhead,
And hid her face amid a crowd of stars

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