NE 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
Though now it seems impossible, and
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
The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,
Burns but more clearly. O she had not these
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.
