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

　　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.