“O she had not these ways
When all the wild summer was in her gaze.”
W.B. Yeats (1865–1939) Irish poet and playwright
The Folly Of Being Comforted http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/1623/ <br class="br">In The Seven Woods (1904) <br class="br">Context: One that is ever kind said yesterday:<br>'Your well-belovéd's hair has threads of grey,<br>And little shadows come about her eyes;<br>Time can but make it easier to be wise<br>Though now it seems impossible, and so<br>All that you need is patience.'<br>Heart cries, 'No,<br>I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain.<br>Time can but make her beauty over again:<br>Because of that great nobleness of hers<br>The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,<br>Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways<br>When all the wild summer was in her gaze.'<br>O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head,<br>You'd know the folly of being comforted.