EN + ES
Escuchar
181
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 6, Poema 8
VIII.
AT
HOME.
The
night
was
wide,
with
little
light
From
just
one
star,
That
often
met
a
cloud
And
hid
itself
in
fear.
The
wind
chased
the
small
bush,
And
blew
away
the
leaves
November
left;
then
climbed
up
And
rattled
in
the
eaves.
No
squirrel
went
out;
A
dog's
late
feet
Were
heard
like
soft
steps
Down
the
empty
street.
To
check
if
blinds
were
closed,
And
sit
closer
to
the
fire
Her
little
rocking-chair
to
draw,
And
feel
sorry
for
the
poor,
The
housewife's
gentle
task.
"How
nicer,"
said
she
To
the
sofa
opposite,
The
sleet
than
May
—
without
you!
||
||
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana