Author Emily Dickinson God permits industrious angelsAfternoons to play.I met one,—forgot my school-mates,All, for him, straightway.God calls home the angels promptlyAt the setting sun;I missed mine. How dreary marbles,After playing Crown! Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments