by: W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)
- H, that Time could touch a form
- That could show what Homer's age
- Bred to be a hero's wage.
- 'Were not all her life but storm,
- Would not painters paint a form
- Of such noble lines,' I said,
- 'Such a delicate high head,
- All that sternness amid charm,
- All that sweetness amid strength?'
- Ah, but peace that comes at length,
- Came when Time had touched her form.
POEMS BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
"Peace" is reprinted from
The Green Helmet and Other Poems. W.B. Yeats. Dundrum:
Cuala Press, 1910.