Walt Whitman
Language: English

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. ‎

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