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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 34
XXXV.
It
is
not
death,
I
stand
up,
All
the
dead
lie
down;
It
is
not
night,
bells
ring
For
noon
in
the
town.
It
is
not
cold,
I
feel
Warm
winds
crawl,
Not
fire,
my
feet
Keep
a
place
cool.
It
feels
like
them
all;
I
see
shapes
Set
for
burial,
Like
my
own
face.
As
if
my
life
is
cut
And
fits
a
frame,
It
cannot
breathe,
It
feels
the
same.
When
all
things
stop,
Space
is
all
around,
Cold
mornings
come,
No
sound
on
the
ground.
But
most
like
chaos,
No
stop,
no
chance,
No
land
to
see,
No
hope
in
glance.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A1 Inglés | Cuentana