Today is kind of a special day and so I am going to do something comletely indulgent (something very English teacher of me...).
My favorite poem:
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.
*** A little background on this poem if you're interested. Yeats is one of Ireland's greatest poets and this particular poem is one of many he wrote for his great, unrequited love, Maude Gonne. Maud was an Irish revolutionary who defied the belief that women were meant to be beautiful and submissive, and stand steadfastly behind their husbands. Though she never returned his love (he proposed to her on more than one occasion), she did influence Yeats' political endeavors, while forever leaving him pining away for her. The above poem is dedicated to her, essentially contending that, when she is old and there are no more men courting her, he'll still love her.
Sweet. Sad. Again, self-indulgent.
2 years ago