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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 6, Poema 8
VIII.
AT
HOME.
The
night
was
wide,
with
little
light
From
just
one
star,
That
when
a
cloud
came
near
It
hid
away
in
fear.
The
wind
chased
the
small
bush,
And
took
away
the
leaves
November
left;
then
climbed
up
And
played
in
the
roof.
No
squirrel
went
out;
A
dog's
late
feet
Were
heard
on
the
street,
Like
soft
steps.
To
check
if
the
blinds
are
tight,
And
sit
by
the
fire
In
her
little
chair,
And
feel
for
the
poor,
The
housewife's
gentle
task.
"How
nicer,"
she
said
To
the
sofa
across,
The
cold
than
May
—
no
you!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana