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.

And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.

I have grown to believe that there is no dangerous idea, which does not become less dangerous when written out in sincere and careful English.

What do we know but that we face one another in this place?

True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.

I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.

... Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild bird mate in the wild.