Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

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.

1. There Is a Shame of Nobleness
2. Till the End
3. Two Swimmers Wrestled on the Spar
4. As Summer into Autumn Slips
5. Unto My Books So Good to Turn

William Bryant The Battle-Field ("Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands")

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