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.
记得以前高中的时候加入了个外研社俱乐部，是北京的，每个月都订一期杂志，加两盘磁带，上面就有这首诗，现在那个杂志借给我妹去了。
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