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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 1, Poema 15
XV.
THE
LONELY
HOUSE.
I
know
some
lonely
houses
off
the
road
A
thief
would
like
the
look
of,
—
Wooden
barred,
And
windows
hanging
low,
Inviting
to
A
porch,
Where
two
could
creep:
One
hand
with
tools,
The
other
peeks
To
ensure
all's
asleep.
Old-fashioned
eyes,
Not
easy
to
surprise!
How
neat
the
kitchen
looks
at
night,
With
just
a
clock,
—
But
they
could
silence
the
tick,
And
mice
won't
bark;
And
so
the
walls
don't
tell,
None
will.
A
pair
of
spectacles
ajar
just
stir
—
An
almanac's
aware.
Was
it
the
mat
winked,
Or
a
nervous
star?
The
moon
slides
down
the
stair
To
see
who's
there.
There's
loot,
—
where?
Tankard,
or
spoon,
Earring,
or
stone,
A
watch,
some
old
brooch
To
match
the
grandmother,
Sleeping
there.
Day
rattles,
too,
Stealth
is
slow;
The
sun
has
reached
The
third
sycamore.
Rooster
screams,
Who's
there?
And
echoes,
train
away,
Sneer
—
"Where?"
While
the
old
couple,
just
awake,
Imagine
the
sunrise
left
the
door
ajar!
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