When you are old and grey and full of sleep...

Sometimes there are things we hold onto. This poem has been one of my favourite since I was 16 years old. Its meaning, like the meaning of most poems, fades and changes over time. For some reason  it resonates with me these days more than others. It is the way the words ebb and flow. The sadness and beauty in lost youth (not that mine is any where close to being lost or over) provides contrast. The love of something pretty and fleeting. The idea of looking back. Of perspective. Perhaps it is because Yates was an Irish man and the Irish have a way of presenting introspection in a way that tugs a little harder at heart strings.

Enjoy.

When You Are Old and Grey

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.

- WB Yates