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.

More poems by Emily Dickinson

One of the ones that Midas touched, / Who failed to touch us all,

I meant to find her when I came; / Death had the same design;

It can't be summer, -- that got through; / It 's early yet for spring;

THE blunder is to estimate,– / Eternity is Then,