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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 18
XVIII.
THE
SPIRIT.
It's
whiter
than
a
pipe,
It's
dimmer
than
lace;
No
shape
has
it,
like
a
fog,
When
you
go
near.
No
voice
shows
it
here,
Or
shows
it
there;
A
spirit,
how
does
it
talk?
What
ways
has
the
air?
This
big
idea
Each
one
of
us
shall
be;
It's
a
play,
if
(idea)
It
is
not
sad!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana