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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 9, Poema 16
XVI.
Not
with
a
club
the
heart
is
hurt,
Nor
with
a
stone;
A
whip,
so
small
you
cannot
see
it.
I
know
To
hurt
the
magic
heart
Till
it
falls,
Yet
that
whip's
name
is
too
noble
To
tell.
Kind
bird
By
boy
seen,
To
sing
to
the
stone
That
made
it
die.
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