My current travels are ever so sadly drawing to a close, though that does mean more detailed posts to come regarding what I’ve seen and done, but with a few minutes to spare this morning, I thought I’d give you all a poem that has been running through my mind throughout my trip. It’s by W.B. Yeats (one of my all-time absolutely-mad-for-him-I-am poets), I apologize if the formatting is all wonky from uploading it on my phone, and it’s called “When You Are Old”:
“WHEN you are old and gray 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.”
Perhaps an interesting choice of poem for my mind to be repeating to itself as I journey, but I don’t think it’s all that strange. Traveling always makes me a little sad even in the midst of joy, and I think this poem is such a beautiful juxtaposition of grief with love, of beauty with pain, that I can hardly stand its loveliness.
That’s all I’ll leave you with for today, plus a picture out of one of my recent hotel windows that I’ll let you create your own stories and poems from: