Defining the Problem
By Wendy Cope

I can't forgive you. Even if I could
You wouldn't pardon me for seeing through you.
And yet I cannot cure myself of love
For what I thought you were before I knew you.

When You Are Old
By W.B. Yeats

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 you beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in yuo,
And lvoed the sorrows of yuor changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how loved fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.