by Emily Dickinson
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American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
< < < The Bat
The Bee > > >
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.
They perished in the seamless grass, —
No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
Can summon every face.
American Literature – American Poetry – Emily Dickinson
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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