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To: flickerful who wrote (387)9/23/1998 5:03:00 PM
From: Thomas C. White  Read Replies (2) | Respond to of 13018
 
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 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.'

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head,
You'd know the folly of being comforted.

~W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)~



To: flickerful who wrote (387)9/29/1998 1:57:00 PM
From: Thomas C. White  Read Replies (2) | Respond to of 13018
 
OVERCAST

Are they blue, gray or green?
Mysterious eyes (as if in fact
you were looking through a mist)
in alternation tender, dreamy, grim
to match the shiftless pallor of the sky.

That's what you're like-these warm white afternoons
which make the ravished heart dissolve in tears,
the nerves, inexplicably overwrought,
outrage the dozing mind.

Not always, though - sometimes
you're like the horizon when the sun
ignites our cloudy autumn - how you glow!
A sodden countryside in sudden rout,
turned incandescent by a changing wind.

Dangerous woman - demoralizing days!
Will I adore your killing frost as much,
and in that implacable winter, when it comes,
discover pleasures sharper than iron and ice?

~Charles Baudelaire~