| Padraic Colum (1881–1972). Anthology of Irish Verse. 1922. |
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| 154. The Folly of Being Comforted |
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| By William Butler Yeats |
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| 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’s hard, till trouble is at an end; | 5 |
| And so be patient, be wise and patient, friend.” | |
| But heart, there is no 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 | 10 |
| 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. | |
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