W.B.Yeats Poems

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.

 

– W.B. Yeats

W.B. Yeats Poems

• Against Unworthy Praise
• An Irish Airman Foresees his Death
• Cloths of Heaven
• Easter 1916
• Hearts with one purpose alone
• High Talk
• Leda and the Swan
• Memory
• Presences
• Sailing to Byzantium
• That woman’s days were spent
• The Collar-Bone of a Hare
• The Lake Isle of Innisfree
• The Second Coming
• The Wild Swans at Coole
• The Winding Stair
• Two Songs of a Fool