When you are old, gray, and sleepy,
bent near the fire, slowly read this book,
dream of the gentle gaze your eyes once had
and of their deep shadows you will no longer have.
How many others loved your magnificent moments
and adored your beauty, falsely or truly,
but only one man, a pilgrim after your soul, dissolved
and loved the face that earthly worries changed.
With your sleeves rolled up, you will feel sad,
murmuring, you’ll say how did this Love slip away,
and flew over mountains, up there in the heights,
hiding its face among the stars.
