To ⁠—

When I am old and my quick blood is chilled,
And all my thoughts are grey as my grey hair,
When I am slow and dull, and do not care,
And all the strife and storm of Life are stilled ;
Then if one carelessly should speak your name
It will go through my body like swift spears
To set my tireless bosom in a flame,
My faded eyelids will be bright with tears ;
And I shall find how far my heart has gone
From wanting you, — how lost and long ago
That love of ours was : I shall suddenly know
How old and grey I am . . . and how alone.