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William Butler Yeats - The Folly Of Being Comforted
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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 seems impossible, and so
All that you need is patience."
Heart cries, "No,
I have not a crumb 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." 
Heart! O heart! if she`d but turn her head,
You`d know the folly of being comforted.
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