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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 4, Poema 27
XXVII.
THE
CHARIOT.
Because
I
could
not
stop
for
Death,
He
kindly
stopped
for
me;
The
carriage
held
just
us
And
Immortality.
We
drove
slowly,
he
knew
no
rush,
And
I
had
put
away
My
work,
and
my
rest
too,
For
his
courtesy.
We
passed
the
school
where
children
played,
Their
lessons
barely
done;
We
passed
the
fields
of
gazing
grain,
We
passed
the
setting
sun.
We
paused
before
a
house
that
seemed
A
swelling
of
the
ground;
The
roof
was
barely
visible,
The
cornice
but
a
mound.
Since
then
it's
been
centuries;
but
each
Feels
shorter
than
the
day
I
first
guessed
the
horses'
heads
Were
toward
eternity.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana