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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 4, Poema 27
XXVII.
ENOUGH.
God
gave
bread
to
every
bird,
But
just
a
crumb
to
me;
I
dare
not
eat
it,
though
I
starve,
—
My
sweet
luxury
To
have
it,
touch
it,
prove
the
feat
That
made
it
mine,
—
Too
happy
in
my
small
chance
For
more
wanting.
It
might
be
hunger
all
around,
I
could
not
miss
a
bit,
Such
plenty
smiles
on
my
table,
My
store
shows
so
fair.
I
wonder
how
the
rich
feel,
—
A
big
ship
—
a
lord?
I
think
that
I
with
just
a
crumb
Am
king
of
all.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana