Afterwards

Those dreadful evidences of Man's ill-doing The kindly Mother of all shall soon hide deep, Covering with tender fingers her children asleep, Till Time's slow cycle turns them to renewing In other forms their beauty - No grief, no rueing Irrevocable woe. They'll lie, they'll steep Their hearts in peace unfathomed, till they leap Quick to the light of the sun, as flowers strewing, Maybe, their own friends' paths. And that's not all. When men who knew them walk old ways alone, The paths they loved together, at even-fall, Then the sad heart shall know a presence near, Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone, The new keen joy shall make all darkness clear.