Comment 1 of 1, added on December 9th, 2008 at 7:56 PM.

THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED.
William Butler Yeats

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One that | is ev | er kind | said yes | ter day


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'Your well | be love | ed's hair | has threads | of grey


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And lit | tle sha | dows come | a bout | her eyes;


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Time can | but make | it eas | ier to | be wise


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Though now | it's hard, | till trouble | is at | an end;


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And so | be patient, | be wise | and patient, | friend.'


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But heart, | there is | no com | fort, not | a grain.


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Time can | but make | her bea | uty ov | er a gain


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Be cause | of that | great no | ble ness | of hers;


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The fire | that stirs; | a - bout | her, when | she stirs


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Burns but | more clear | ly; O | she had | not these | ways


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When all | the wild | sum mer | was in | her gaze.


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O heart, | O heart, | if she'd | but turn | her head,


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You'd know | the fol | ly of | be ing | com fort | ed.




Tim from United States