The Seashell Anthology of Great Poetry began, well, great. Filled mostly with American poets from the 19th and 20th Century, it's a testament to our heritage. But lately I haven't been feeling that into this book. I've had a hard time understanding, let alone relating to some of the older poetry. And then I stumbled upon another Walt Whitman poem. Uncle Walt has always held a soft, pillowy spot in my heart, and here's another reason why. This poignant, insightful, timeless piece almost made me cry.
Reconciliation
1865
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,
Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.
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