When You Are Old, by William Butler Yeats

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.

It makes sense, as I read somewhere, that this is Yeats' love poem about Ireland.  But I love this reading by Matthew Macfadyen, because it's a heartfelt rendering of the poem, simply as a love poem.  I love the lady to whom he reads it, and her momentary soft look, amid the rise and cackle of campfire.