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 soil'd 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.