The moment of truth seems to have arrived in Iran. I don't know what will happen, but as always, Yeats is on the case:
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
The surnames are different today and I hope the result is different. But the sentiment still seems right to me.