W. B. Yeats               The Folly Of Being Comforted   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   All that you need is patience."                                                               Heart cries, "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."   Heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head,   You'd know the folly of being comforted.   1902