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, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DREAM by GEORGE GORDON BYRON WHEN DE CO'N PONE'S HOT by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SUMMER. THE SECOND PASTORAL, OR ALEXIS by ALEXANDER POPE A PRELUDE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNET TO THE KYNGE by THEODORE AGRIPPA D' AUBIGNE LOVE'S LIKENINGS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL DRESSED FOR SUNDAY by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |