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A continuing selection of classic and contemporary poems.

Peace

William Butler Yeats

Ah, 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.
Online text © 1998-2014 Poetry X. All rights reserved.
From The Green Helmet and Other Poems | 1910
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