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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 7
VII.
THE
WHITE
HEAT.
Dare
you
see
a
soul
at
its
hottest?
Then
stay
inside
the
door.
Red
is
the
usual
fire
color;
But
when
the
ore
is
hot
enough,
Its
substance
shakes
Without
any
color
but
light
Of
pure
blaze.
Every
village
has
its
blacksmith,
Whose
hammer's
regular
sound
Stands
for
the
finer
forge
That
works
silently
inside,
Refining
these
ores
With
hammer
and
with
blaze,
Until
the
light
Rejects
the
forge.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana