ã When You Are Old ã
ããWhen you are old and gray and full of sleep
ããAnd nodding by the fire, take down this book,
ããAnd slowly read, and dream of the soft look
ããYour eyes had once, and of their shadows deepï¼
ãã
ããHow many loved your moments of glad grace,
ããAnd loved your beauty with love false or trueï¼
ããBut one man loved the pilgrim[1]soul in you,
ããAnd loved the sorrows of your changing face;
ãã
ããAnd bending down beside the glowing bars,
ããMurmur, a little sadly, how love fled
ããAnd paced[2] upon the mountains overhead,
ããAnd hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
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The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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