Emily Dickinson

He fought like those Who've nought to lose

759 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—