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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.

The furthest distance in the world

Is not between life and death

But when I stand in front of you

Yet you don't know that

I love you.

The furthest distance in the world

Is not when I stand in front of you

Yet you can't see my love

But when undoubtedly knowing the love from both

Yet cannot be together.

The furthest distance in the world

Is not being apart while being in love

But when I plainly cannot resist the yearning

Yet pretending you have never been in my heart. The furthest distance in the world

Is not struggling against the tides

But using one's indifferent heart

To dig an uncrossable river

For the one who loves you.