When You are Old

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When You are Old

by W. B. Yeats

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 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.

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Miscellany


Other poems by W. B. Yeats (read randomly)

(Song from an Unfinished Play)
My mother dandled me and sang,
'How young it is, how young!'

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island

What shall I do with this absurdity—
O heart, O troubled heart—this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me

THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water