Philosophical English poetry

When you are old, gray-haired and sleepy.

Take a nap by the fire, take down this book,

Reading slowly, dreaming of the gentle eyes.

Your eyes were once, and their shadows were deep;

How many people love your happy and elegant moments,

Love your beauty with false or true love;

But there is one person who loves your pilgrim soul,

Love the sadness on your aging face;

Bend down by the glowing fireplace,

Whispering a little sadly, how love dies.

Pacing on the mountains overhead,

Hide his face among the stars.