Whether it's absolutely my favourite love-song depends on how I'm feeling, but one song that never fails to move me deeply is by Ivor Gurney, to a poem by Yeats: 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.
|