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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 44
XLIV.
MY
CRICKET.
Further
in
summer
than
the
birds,
Singing
softly
in
the
grass,
A
small
group
celebrates
Its
quiet
gathering.
No
rules
are
seen,
So
gentle
the
grace,
It
becomes
a
thoughtful
custom,
Adding
to
loneliness.
Most
felt
at
noon
When
August
is
low,
This
quiet
song
Brings
rest
to
mind.
No
grace
is
lost
yet,
No
shadow
on
the
glow,
Yet
a
different
feel
Enhances
nature
now.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana