When you are old, gray-haired and sleepy.
Take a nap by the fire and take down the 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,
Loving your beauty with true or false 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.