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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 38
XXXVIII.
THE
PREACHER.
He
talked
about
"breadth"
till
he
seemed
narrow,
—
The
broad
are
too
wide
to
see;
And
of
"truth"
until
he
seemed
false,
—
Truth
never
shows
a
sign.
Simplicity
ran
from
his
fake
presence
Like
gold
runs
from
fool's
gold.
What
confusion
would
cover
kind
Jesus
To
meet
such
a
man!
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