Classic Poem

We who are left must wait the years' slow healing,
Seeing the things they loved, the life they lost—
The clouds that out the east come, huge, concealing
The angry sunset, burnished, tempest-tossed.
How will we bear earth's beauty, visions, wonder,
Knowing they loved them in the self-same way—
Th' exulting lightning followed by deep thunder,
Th' exhilaration of each dawning day?
Banners of northern lights for them loom greener,
Waving as waves the sea-weed's streamered head;
Where bent the swaying wheat, the sunburned gleaner
Will find in their remembrance flowers of red.
Oh, life must be immortal for their sake:
Oh, earth will rest them gently till they wake.