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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 8
VIII.
AT
HOME.
The
night
was
big,
and
had
little
With
just
one
star,
That
sometimes
met
a
cloud
And
hid
for
fear.
The
wind
chased
the
small
bush,
And
took
away
the
leaves
November
left;
then
climbed
up
And
played
in
the
roof.
No
squirrel
went
out;
A
dog's
late
feet
Like
soft
steps
were
heard
Down
the
empty
street.
To
check
if
blinds
are
closed,
And
closer
to
the
fire
Her
small
chair
to
pull,
And
shiver
for
the
poor,
The
housewife's
gentle
task.
"How
nicer,"
said
she
To
the
sofa
across,
The
cold
than
May
—
no
you!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana