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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 9
IX.
THE
BATTLE-FIELD.
They
fell
like
snowflakes,
they
fell
like
stars,
Like
petals
from
a
rose,
When
suddenly
across
the
June
A
wind
with
fingers
goes.
They
died
in
the
grass,
—
No
eye
could
find
the
place;
But
God
on
his
list
Can
call
every
face.
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