Friday, October 2, 2009

When you are old

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.

W.B. Yeats


Mary Ellen said...

I've been catching up a bit - your images are wonderful, evocative, dream-laden, especially in concert with the poetry. How helpful in the middle of a work-day filled with "stuff" to be reminded of the broader dimensions of existence.

Lydia said...

A favorite poem of mine. It is what came to me to speak just after my husband and I scattered my mother's ashes at sea off the back of a whale-watching boat we had rented privately for that morning. As her birthday was September 27 and she died exactly one month after her birthday - on October 27 - this month each year holds special significance for me. Since that day in 2000 I've had what I have experienced what I call Ironies/Cosmic Messages, especially during this time frame.....and I think this is one of them.
Thank you.

monk said...

great soft at first