We lost our friend Aimee to cancer last Wednesday. This poem always, even when we were young grad students with nothing but future ahead of us, reminded me of her. Now it just makes me cry. 

--

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 and 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 his his face amid a crowd of stars. 

-- W.B. Yeats