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 embers,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Fate did decree
Only "what if" and "could never be"
And for those, such as I, doth whisper, "Remember me."
with considerable help from William Butler Yeats
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - and, if God chose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
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CONTENTS
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