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.
Yeats writes to a future version of the beloved, asking her to remember the one who loved her "pilgrim soul." The poem anticipates aging, framing the present as something she will reread later. Memory bridges youth and old age.
Readers witness a contrast between surface admirers and the deeper lover who cherished her inner journey. Yeats suggests that the truest affection embraces sorrow as well as grace. Love becomes an act of seeing beyond appearances.
The final image—Love fleeing to the mountains and hiding among stars—mixes myth and melancholy. Yeats leaves us with a sense that opportunities can vanish if not reciprocated. The poem invites reflection on how we value those who love us for more than fleeting beauty.
Interpretation generated with assistance from Claude.