The Folly Of Being Comforted
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) One that is ever kind said yesterday 'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey, And little shadows come about her eyes; Time can but make it easier to be wise Though now it seems impossible, and so Patience is all that you have need of.' No, I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain; Time can but make her beauty over again; Because of that great nobleness of hers The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways, When all the wild summer was in her gaze. O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head, You'd know the folly of being comforted. |