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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 8
VIII.
A
murmur
in
the
trees
to
note,
Not
loud
like
the
wind;
A
star
not
far
to
see,
Nor
near
to
find;
A
long
yellow
on
the
lawn,
A
sound
like
feet;
Not
loud
like
ours,
But
sweeter
and
neat;
A
hurry
of
little
men
To
homes
unseen,
—
All
this,
and
more,
if
I
tell,
Would
never
be
believed.
Of
robins
in
the
bed
How
many
I
see
Whose
nightgowns
cannot
hide
wings,
Though
I
hear
them
try!
But
I
promised
not
to
tell;
How
could
I
break
my
word?
So
go
your
way
and
I'll
go
mine,
—
No
fear
you'll
miss
the
road.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana