The poem
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.
THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED. William Butler Yeats / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ One that | is ev | er kind | said yes | ter day / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ 'Your well | be love | ed's hair | has threads | of grey / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ And lit | tle sha | dows come | a bout | her eyes; / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ Time can | but make | it eas | ier to | be wise / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~ Though now | it's hard, | till trouble | is at | an end; / ~ / ~…
Read the whole commentTHE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED.
William Butler Yeats
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One that | is ev | er kind | said yes | ter day
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'Your well | be love | ed's hair | has threads | of grey
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And lit | tle sha | dows come | a bout | her eyes;
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Time can | but make | it eas | ier to | be wise
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Though now | it's hard, | till trouble | is at | an end;
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And so | be patient, | be wise | and patient, | friend.'
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But heart, | there is | no com | fort, not | a grain.
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Time can | but make | her bea | uty ov | er a gain
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Be cause | of that | great no | ble ness | of hers;
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The fire | that stirs; | a - bout | her, when | she stirs
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Burns but | more clear | ly; O | she had | not these | ways
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When all | the wild | sum mer | was in | her gaze.
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O heart, | O heart, | if she'd | but turn | her head,
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You'd know | the fol | ly of | be ing | com fort | ed.