Later Poems of Yeats: In the Seven Woods (1904): 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 seem 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.