God permit industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, -- forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightaway.
God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing the Crown!
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- The Day Came Slow
- I'Ll Clutch—and Clutch
- I'Ve Seen A Dying Eye
- I Cross Till I Am Weary
- When I Was Small, A Woman Died