Emily Dickinson Poems

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He fought like those Who've nought to lose --
Bestowed Himself to Balls
As One who for a further Life
Had not a further Use --

Invited Death -- with bold attempt --
But Death was Coy of Him
As Other Men, were Coy of Death --
To Him -- to live -- was Doom --

His Comrades, shifted like the Flakes
When Gusts reverse the Snow --
But He -- was left alive Because
Of Greediness to die --

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