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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 54
LIV.
CHARLOTTE
BRONTË'S
GRAVE.
All
covered
by
moss,
All
mixed
with
weed,
The
little
cage
of
'Currer
Bell,'
In
quiet
Haworth
laid.
This
bird,
watching
others,
When
frost
is
sharp,
Goes
to
other
places,
Quietly
does
the
same,
But
comes
back
different;
Since
Yorkshire
hills
are
green,
Yet
not
in
all
nests
I
see
Can
nightingale
be
seen.
Gathered
from
many
travels,
Gethsemane
can
tell
Through
what
great
pain
She
reached
the
asphodel!
Soft
fall
the
sounds
of
Eden
On
her
puzzled
ear;
Oh,
what
a
day
for
heaven,
When
'Brontë'
entered
there!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana