Poems by Emily Dickinson | ||
190
IX.
THE BATTLE-FIELD.
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers goes.
Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers goes.
They perished in the seamless grass,—
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.
Poems by Emily Dickinson | ||