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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 12, Poema 17
XVII.
ASLEEP.
As
far
from
pity
as
complaint,
As
cool
to
speech
as
stone,
As
numb
to
revelation
As
if
my
work
were
bone.
As
far
from
time
as
history,
As
near
yourself
today
As
children
to
the
rainbow's
colors,
Or
sunset's
golden
play
To
eyes
in
the
grave.
How
still
the
dancer
lies,
While
colors
break,
And
butterflies
shine!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana