RIP John Hume

PEACE 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.

In Your Memory Everyone In Ireland Lights A Candle For Peace Everywhere