But one man ?saw the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

something like that:

"Quand vous sera toute gris,
Assis aupres de la feu,
Devidant et filant... &c &c
... Ronsard me celebrait quand j'etais belle

And Yeats did so for Maud Gonne, in translation. Mind you, he also described her as "drinking the ditch where they lie".


For the Walrus, I wonder if it's anything to do with Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov?

For everyone else:

"Life scarce can cast a fragrance on the breeze,
But ........ "