Classic Poem

If thou wert lying cold and still and white
In death's embraces, O mine enemy!
I think that if I came and looked on thee,
I should forgive; that something in the sight
Of thy still face would conquer me, by right
Of death's sad impotence, and I should see
How pitiful a thing it is to be
At feud with aught that 's mortal. So to-night,
My soul, unfurling her white flag of peace,
Forestalling that dread hour when we may meet, —
The dead face and the living, — fain would cry,
Across the years, " Oh, let our warfare cease!
Life is so short, and hatred is not sweet;
Let there be peace between us ere we die! "