Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
Winging wildly across the white
Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight.
Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
And beauty came like the setting sun:
My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
Drifted away ... O, but Everyone
Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
Not the rising sun of a new day and a fresh start, but the setting sun—an ending. Sometimes the most beautiful moment of catharsis comes at the end of an ordeal, when hindsight starts to set in and you can finally see what’s passed for the whole what it was, and what it now is: the past. 
 This flash of the “light at the end of the tunnel” can be as universal as the release of death, as communal as the conclusion of a war, or as individual as finding relief from depression. That exact flexibility of meaning is why this poem has found its way into so many anthologies covering so many different subjects.
Everyone Sang