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 paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars
<Had I not seen the Sun> ----Emily Dickinson