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1830–1886

THE BATTLE-FIELD.

Emily Dickinson

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.

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THE BATTLE-FIELD. · Emily Dickinson · Poetry Cove