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178
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 11
XI.
THE
LOVERS.
The
rose
danced
on
her
cheek,
Her
dress
moved
up
and
down,
Her
sweet
words,
like
drunk
men,
Did
stumble
softly.
Her
fingers
played
at
her
work,
—
Her
needle
did
not
move;
What
troubled
the
smart
girl
I
did
not
know,
Till
I
saw
a
cheek
With
another
rose;
Just
across,
another
talk
That
stumbled
too;
A
vest
that,
like
the
dress,
danced
To
the
sweet
tune,
—
Till
those
two
little
clocks
Ticked
softly
as
one.
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