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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 52
LII.
To
learn
the
joy
by
the
pain,
As
blind
men
learn
the
sun;
To
die
of
thirst,
thinking
That
streams
in
meadows
run;
To
keep
the
homesick
feet
On
a
foreign
shore
Haunted
by
native
lands,
meanwhile,
And
blue,
beloved
air
—
This
is
the
greatest
anguish,
This,
the
signal
woe!
These
are
the
patient
poets
Whose
voices,
trained
below,
Rise
in
endless
song,
Inaudible,
indeed,
To
us,
the
slower
learners
Of
the
mysterious
poet!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana