Peace

By W. B. Yeats

H, that Time could touch a formThat could show what Homer’s ageBred to be a hero’s wage.’Were not all her life but storm,Would not painters paint a formOf 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. 

Subscribe
Join Our Community
Subscribe
Join Our Community

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
Subscribe
Join Our Community
Subscribe
Join Our Community
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
LEVEL UP!
Drop your email and we'll send you 25 poetry editing guidelines to help transform your creative writing!
Send It!
Get On The List
We'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
SIGN UP NOW!
Get On The List
We'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
SIGN UP NOW!