Ivor Gurney — 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 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