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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 17
XVII.
THE
RAILWAY
TRAIN.
I
like
to
see
it
go
the
miles,
And
take
the
valleys,
And
stop
to
fill
up;
Then,
like
a
giant,
step
Around
mountains,
And
look
down
At
houses
by
the
road;
And
then
cut
a
quarry
To
fit
its
sides,
and
go
through,
Complaining
as
it
goes
In
loud,
hooting
sounds;
Then
race
downhill
And
neigh
like
a
horse;
Then,
like
a
star,
Stop
—
strong
and
in
control
—
At
its
own
station.
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