So much of Walt Whitman to love in Leaves of Grass, but on this Easter eve, I think of this poem from Drum Taps, his poetic witness to the Civil War.
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 deada man divine as myself is dead;
I look where he lies, white-faced and still, in the coffinI draw near;
I bend down, and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.