Revised 10 August 1999

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 wasier to be wise
Though now it seem 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.

O heart! O heart! If she'd but turn her head,
You'd know the folly of being comforted.


None yet given
go to "An Irish Airman Foresees His Death" go to "The Stolen Child" go to "Adam's Curse"
go to "The Second Coming" go to "Never Give All the Heart" go to "When You Are Old"