The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief or grief has drained me clean; Still it seems a pity No one saw,โit must have been Very pretty.
Edna St. Vincent MillayWe think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.
Edna St. Vincent Millay