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Posted by on May 22, 2009

William Butler Yeats’ kind of love


When you are old and gray 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.


Not that it matters, but this was quite literally the poem that I read as a sophomore in high school that told me I would be writing clumsy poetry for the rest of my life. 18 years later and I am still writing the cursed verse.

There is quite simply no better line than “the pilgrim soul in you.” Amen, William.

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