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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 27
XXVII.
INDIAN
SUMMER.
These
are
the
days
when
birds
return,
A
few,
a
bird
or
two,
To
take
a
backward
look.
These
are
the
days
when
skies
put
on
The
old,
old
tricks
of
June,
—
A
blue
and
gold
mistake.
Oh,
trick
that
cannot
fool
the
bee,
Almost
your
charm
Makes
me
believe,
Until
lines
of
seeds
testify,
And
softly
through
the
changed
air
A
timid
leaf
hurries!
Oh,
sacrament
of
summer
days,
Oh,
last
communion
in
the
haze,
Allow
a
child
to
join,
To
share
your
sacred
symbols,
To
break
your
blessed
bread,
To
taste
your
eternal
wine!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana