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[‘p?lgr?m] 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.
当你老了
当你老了，两鬓斑白，睡意沉沉，
倦坐在炉边时，取下这本书，
慢慢读起，追忆那当年的眼神，
神色柔和，倒影深深。
多少人曾爱慕你青春妩媚的身影，
爱过你的美貌出自假意或真情，
而唯独一人爱你那朝圣者的心，
爱你那日渐衰老的满面风霜。
你弯下腰，在炽热的炉边，
在浅浅忧伤中沉吟：爱情如何逝去，
向山峦之巅独行，
将他的面容隐没在繁星中间。
