Tyltyl shut his eyes and leaned against a heavy stone beside him. The children remained in that position for a minute, hardly daring to breathe. Then they heard birds singing, a warm scented breeze fanned their faces and on hands and neck they felt the soft heat of the balmy summer sun. Reassured, but finding it hard to believe in so great a miracle, they opened their eyes and looked about them. From all the open tombs were rising thousands of delicate flowers gradually growing more and more tall and plentiful and marvellous. Little by little they spread everywhere, over the paths, over the grass, transforming the rude little graveyard into a fairylike garden. Its sweet-scented breeze was murmuring in the young and tender leaves, the birds were singing and the bees humming gaily above glittering dew and opening flowers.
“I can’t believe it! It’s not possible!” cried Tyltyl.
The two children, holding each other by the hand, walked through what had been the graveyard, but where now no graveyard was to be seen. Vainly they searched among the flowers for a trace of the low mounds, stone slabs, and wooden crosses so lately there. In the presence of the truth they saw that all their fears of the dead were foolish. They saw that there are no dead; but that life goes on always only under fresh form. The fading rose sheds its pollen only to give birth to other roses, and its scattered petals scent the air. The fruits come when the blossoms fall from the trees; when the grub dies the brilliant butterfly is born. Nothing perishes; there are only changes.
Beautiful birds circled about Tyltyl and Mytyl. There were no blue ones among them, but the two children were so happy over their discovery that they asked for nothing more.
Relieved and delighted they kept repeating:
“There are no dead! There are no dead!”
LITTLE BOY BLUE
Alfred Noyes