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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 8
VIII.
A
whisper
in
the
trees
to
note,
Not
loud
enough
for
wind;
A
star
not
far
enough
to
seek,
Nor
near
enough
to
find;
A
long,
long
yellow
on
the
lawn,
A
bustle
as
of
feet;
Not
audible,
as
ours
to
us,
But
neater,
more
sweet;
A
hurrying
home
of
little
men
To
houses
unseen,
—
All
this,
and
more,
if
I
should
tell,
Would
never
be
believed.
Of
robins
in
the
trundle
bed
How
many
I
can
see
Whose
nightgowns
cannot
hide
the
wings,
Though
I
heard
them
try!
But
then
I
promised
not
to
tell;
How
could
I
break
my
word?
So
go
your
way
and
I'll
go
mine,
—
No
fear
you'll
miss
the
road.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana