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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 9, Poema 27
XXXIII.
GRIEFS.
I
look
at
every
grief
I
see
With
careful
eyes;
I
wonder
if
it
feels
like
mine,
Or
if
it's
smaller
in
size.
I
wonder
if
they
had
it
long,
Or
if
it
just
began?
I
can't
remember
when
mine
started,
It
feels
like
an
old
pain.
I
wonder
if
living
hurts
them,
And
if
they
have
to
try,
And
if
they
could
choose,
Would
they
rather
die?
I
wonder
if
when
many
years
pass
—
Thousands
—
since
the
start
Of
early
hurt,
if
such
time
Could
give
them
any
rest;
Or
would
they
still
feel
pain
Through
many
years
above,
Feeling
a
bigger
pain
When
they
think
of
love.
I
hear
many
people
are
sad;
The
reason
is
deeper,
—
Death
happens
once
and
only
once,
And
it
closes
the
eyes.
There's
grief
from
wanting,
and
grief
from
cold,
—
A
kind
they
call
'despair;'
There's
being
away
from
home,
Even
when
you
breathe
home
air.
And
though
I
may
not
know
the
kind
Exactly,
yet
I
feel
A
strange
comfort
when
I
pass
The
place
called
Calvary,
To
see
the
kinds
of
crosses,
Of
those
who
stand
alone,
Still
thinking
maybe
Some
are
like
my
own.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — A2 Inglés | Cuentana