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.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.

Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.

The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.

I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.

I have found nothing half so good / As my long-planned half solitude, / Where I can sit up half the night / With some friend that has the wit.

My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.