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The Folly of Being Comforted

One that is ever kind said yesterday:

“Your well-belovèd’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 s

All that you need is patience.”

Heart cries, “No,

I have not a crump 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. ckuh0WnW20stAUO625wqVgokU1hMGLOElb6EpFtZTqdSMHz74AwA48OLWDEceiYn

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