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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 2, Poema 24
XXIV.
THE
WIND.
Of
all
the
sounds
outside,
There's
none
to
me
Like
that
old
tune
in
the
trees,
That
wordless
song
The
wind
makes,
working
like
a
hand
Whose
fingers
touch
the
sky,
Then
come
down,
with
soft
tunes
For
gods
and
me.
When
winds
go
round
and
round,
And
knock
on
the
door,
And
birds
sit
above,
To
play
music,
I
ask
for
grace,
of
summer
trees,
If
such
a
one
be,
He
never
heard
that
soft
song
Rise
in
the
tree,
As
if
some
sound
In
the
sky,
Had
broken,
Then
joined,
and
passed
In
a
smooth
group.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana