William Butler Yeats - Peace lyrics

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.