Reconciliation
Word over all, beautiful as the sky! Beautiful that war, and all its deeds of carnage, must in time be utterly lost; That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly, softly wash again, and ever again, this soiled world. For my enemy is dead—a man divine as myself is dead. I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffin—I draw near; I bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.