Through the chamber
Of my heart.
Of lost hope
Caress my skin
As the darkness
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 shodows 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...
William Butler Yeats
[This message has been edited by Marilyn (edited 05-08-2000).]