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.

This week is dedicated to Yeats. He seems to pop up everywhere. First, I end up waking up (as I often do) at 3 to 4 am and reading a bunch of his work, like one of my all-time-favourites, "When You Are old", and then nostalgizing two days solid on Loreena McKennitt's "Two Trees".

He is, of course, thoroughly silly and somewhat relatable. I especially love the fact he had this whole romantic storyline with Maud Gonne, and then once had (quite obviously quite disappointing) sex with her, and that was pretty much the end of that passion. Not at all trying to assume what/who was so disappointing about it, just, kinda know that feeling.. "I have longed for you my whole life! Nothing else even matters..! oh. Okay. Well, that was more hmm.. embarrassing. Let's not talk about it too much again, okay?" Anyway, the poetry really is quite to my liking. xx, W.B., you lovely sordid sod.