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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 8, Poema 34
XXXV.
It
was
not
death,
for
I
stood
up,
And
all
the
dead
lie
down;
It
was
not
night,
for
all
the
bells
Spoke
out
for
noon.
It
was
not
cold,
for
on
my
skin
I
felt
warm
winds
crawl,
—
Nor
fire,
for
just
my
marble
feet
Could
keep
a
church
cool.
And
yet
it
felt
like
them
all;
The
figures
I
have
seen
Set
in
order,
for
burial,
Reminded
me
of
mine,
As
if
my
life
were
cut
And
fitted
to
a
frame,
And
could
not
breathe
without
a
key;
And
it
was
like
midnight,
some,
When
everything
that
ticks
has
stopped,
And
space
stares
all
around,
Or
cold
frosts,
first
autumn
mornings,
Stop
the
beating
ground.
But
most
like
chaos,
—
endless,
cool,
—
Without
a
chance
or
hope,
Or
even
a
sign
of
land
To
justify
despair.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana