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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 12, Poema 18
XVIII.
THE
SPIRIT.
It's
whiter
than
a
pipe,
It's
dimmer
than
lace;
It
has
no
shape,
like
fog,
When
you
come
close.
No
voice
shows
it
here,
Or
tells
it
there;
A
spirit,
how
does
it
speak?
What
manners
does
air
have?
This
endless
exaggeration
Each
of
us
shall
be;
It's
a
play,
if
(a
guess)
It
is
not
a
sad
play!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana