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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 4, Poema 17
XVII.
THE
RAILWAY
TRAIN.
I
like
to
see
it
go
fast,
And
take
the
valleys
in,
And
stop
to
drink
at
tanks;
And
then,
big,
step
Around
mountains,
And
look
down
At
houses
by
the
roads;
And
then
cut
To
fit
its
sides,
and
move
through,
Complaining
all
the
time
With
loud,
hooting
noise;
Then
run
down
hill
And
neigh
like
a
horse;
Then,
like
a
star,
Stop
—
calm
and
strong
—
At
its
own
door.
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