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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 12, Poema 17
XVII.
ASLEEP.
As
far
from
pity
as
complaint,
As
cold
to
words
as
stone,
As
numb
to
revelation
As
if
my
trade
were
bone.
As
far
from
time
as
history,
As
near
you
today
As
children
to
a
rainbow's
scarf,
Or
sunset's
golden
play
To
eyes
in
the
tomb.
How
still
the
dancer
lies,
While
colors'
revelations
break,
And
butterflies
blaze
by!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana