When you are old and grey and you are full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, kindly take down this book
And slowly read, and dream of the ultra-softness
Of the look your eyes once had. You are an actress
In the way you’ve forsaken me. One day you’ll look
With your eyes of deep shadows and bitterly weep.
How many loved your moments of glad grace? And how
Many knew but your beauty with love false or true?
Yet one true lover loved the pilgrim soul in you.
Loving you was the only thing that I could do.
Several times rejected, I can’t feel but blue.
Will my heartache and sorrow be etched in your brow?
As this is addressed to you from my open heart
Which cherishes the sorrows of your changing face
And of your bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur a little sadly that love was not ours.
Memories of how things might have been you’ll embrace
With a bittersweet conscience. I’ll not be a part.
How love fled paced upon the mountains overhead
And sadly hid his face among a crowd of stars
Desperately hoping that my lover will see
That the best thing in her life could well have been me.
Present tense is the storage place of our memoirs.
You may know in your heart every tear that I’ve shed.
