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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 35
XXXV.
THE
GOAL.
Each
life
aims
at
some
center
Seen
or
not;
Exists
in
every
person
A
goal,
Not
always
known,
it
might
be,
Too
nice
For
belief's
boldness
To
dare.
Loved
with
care,
like
a
fragile
heaven,
To
reach
Is
as
hard
as
the
rainbow's
clothes
To
touch,
Yet
worked
toward,
clearer
for
the
distance;
How
high
To
the
saints'
slow
work
The
sky!
Not
reached,
maybe,
by
a
life's
small
try,
But
then,
Eternity
lets
us
try
Again.
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