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on "WHEN YOU ARE OLD", of W.B. YEATS
My face cannot be masked in any stars;
no mountain soars as high as my devotion;
no old-age curves me wayward from emotion;
no sad nor mute muttering : True Love's still ours!
Mellowed---no!, not "aged"---your lovely face!
Ahh!, the Pilgrim of your soul keeps mine e'er-loving!
(No man loves Beauty with a love without truest meaning,
and the truest lust-for-life requires shared-grace!)
Oh!, yet LOST! in those cool, deep shadows of your eyes!
Oh!, the tale told---dreams dreamt---by what our Bloods move!
No fire's glaring tongues can devour the pages of my Love!,
nor Age's attacking sleeps e'er defeat Love's disguise:
now "ageless" My Love, we neither wax nor wane
like yon moon; we've joined our Muses once again!!
Well, Teddy, I like your arrangement of Mr Yeats poem. It's now a bit easier to understand.