The Folly of Being Comforted

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's hard, till trouble is at an end;
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 p. 21
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.