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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 15
XV.
THE
BEE.
Like
trains
on
soft
tracks
I
hear
the
bee:
A
sound
across
the
flowers
goes,
Their
soft
walls
Stand
until
the
sweet
attack
Their
courage
takes,
While
he,
victorious,
flies
away
To
win
other
blooms.
His
feet
wear
gauze,
His
helmet
is
gold;
His
chest,
a
single
gem
With
green
stone,
inlaid.
His
work
is
a
song,
His
rest
a
tune;
Oh,
for
a
bee's
life
Of
clovers
and
noon!
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