‘Tis Seasons since the Dimpled War
In which we each were Conqueror
And each of us were slain
And Centuries ’twill be and more
Another Massacre before
So modest and so vain —
Without a Formula we fought
Each was to each the Pink Redoubt —
(Emily Dickinson)
More Poetry from Emily Dickinson:
- Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Sic transit gloria mundi (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- I cannot live with You (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- The Wind begun to knead the Grass (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- One Year ago-jots what? (Emily Dickinson Poems)
- Your Riches - taugh (Emily Dickinson Poems)