This morning, Atticus asked what I was planning for Poetry Friday.
I said, "Oh ... I don't know."
He said, "I think a little Yeats is in order."
"I dunno," I said, but I was thinking, I do really love When You Are Old.
"Why don't you do When You Are Old?" he asked.
And so, because Atticus is the man who loved the pilgrim soul in me, and still loves my changing face, I must share When You Are Old today, and murmur, most gladly, that love never fled.
When You Are Old
by William Butler 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.
The round-up is at Becky's Book Reviews.