beauty will save the world

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 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.

/ 'when you are old' by william butler yeats

i'm helping my boss print a limited edition book on yeats at the moment which includes passages of yeats' poetry as well as photographs my boss took in ireland in 1965-1966. this poem seems relevant to me in some way right now