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. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
2. Unto My Books So Good to Turn
3. This Merit Hath the Worst
4. A Country Burial
5. Going

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

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