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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 33
XXXIII.
ALONG
THE
POTOMAC.
When
I
was
small,
a
woman
died.
Today
her
only
boy
Went
up
from
the
Potomac,
His
face
all
victory,
To
see
her;
how
slowly
The
seasons
turned
Till
bullets
cut
an
angle,
And
he
moved
fast!
If
pride
shall
be
in
Paradise
I
never
can
decide;
Of
their
grand
way,
No
one
said.
But
proud
in
sight,
That
woman
and
her
boy
Move
back
and
forth
in
my
mind,
As
always
in
the
sky.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana