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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 25
XXV.
DYING.
The
sun
keeps
setting;
No
afternoon
color
On
the
village
I
see,
—
From
house
to
house
it's
noon.
The
dusk
keeps
falling;
No
dew
on
grass,
But
only
on
my
face,
And
moves
around.
My
feet
keep
resting,
My
fingers
are
awake;
Yet
why
so
little
sound
Do
I
seem
to
make?
How
well
I
knew
the
light
before!
I
cannot
see
it
now.
I'm
dying,
I
know;
but
I'm
not
scared
to
know.
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