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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 4, Poema 33
XXXIII.
ALONG
THE
POTOMAC.
When
I
was
small,
a
woman
died.
Today
her
only
son
Went
up
from
the
Potomac,
His
face
full
of
victory,
To
see
her;
how
slowly
The
seasons
must
have
turned
Until
bullets
clipped
an
angle,
And
he
quickly
passed
by!
If
pride
is
in
Paradise
I
cannot
decide;
Of
their
royal
ways,
No
one
testified.
But
proud
in
appearance,
That
woman
and
her
son
Pass
back
and
forth
in
my
mind,
As
always
in
the
sky.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana