When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, a 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 charming face;
And bedding down among the glowing bars,
Murmurs, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountain overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
– William Butler Yeats
A Blessing and a Grace:
Some have food, others have none…
God bless the revolution.