Author Emily Dickinson 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! Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 5 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments