Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 264
IX. The Battle-Field
ОглавлениеThey 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.
