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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 28
XXVIII.
THE
COMING
OF
NIGHT.
How
the
old
mountains
drip
with
sunset,
And
the
brake
of
brown!
How
the
hemlocks
are
tipped
in
tinsel
By
the
magic
sun!
How
the
old
steeples
hold
the
scarlet,
Till
the
ball
is
full,
—
Have
I
the
lip
of
the
flamingo
That
I
dare
to
tell?
Then,
how
the
fire
ebbs
like
waves,
Touching
all
the
grass
With
a
departing,
sapphire
touch,
As
if
a
duchess
passed!
How
a
small
dusk
creeps
on
the
village
Till
the
houses
fade;
And
the
odd
flambeaux
no
men
carry
Glimmer
on
the
spot!
Now
it
is
night
in
nest
and
kennel,
And
where
was
the
wood,
Just
a
dome
of
abyss
is
nodding
Into
solitude!
—
These
are
the
visions
baffled
Guido;
Titian
never
told;
Domenichino
dropped
the
pencil,
Unable
to
unfold.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana