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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 2
II.
I
bring
a
rare
wine
To
lips
long
dry,
next
to
mine,
And
invite
them
to
drink.
Burning
with
fever,
they
try;
I
turn
my
full
eyes
away,
And
come
back
later
to
see.
The
hands
still
hold
the
slow
glass;
The
lips
I
wished
to
cool,
alas!
Are
now
so
cold
and
still,
I
would
as
soon
try
to
warm
The
hearts
where
frost
has
lain
For
ages
under
the
earth.
There
might
be
others
thirsty
Who
this
could
have
pointed
to
If
it
had
stayed
to
speak.
So
I
always
carry
the
cup
Hoping
mine
might
be
the
drop
To
quench
a
pilgrim's
thirst—
If,
maybe,
someone
says
to
me,
Unto
the
small,
unto
me,
When
I
finally
awake.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana