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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 7
VII.
THE
WHITE
HEAT.
Do
you
dare
see
a
soul
at
the
white
heat?
Then
crouch
within
the
door.
Red
is
the
fire's
usual
shade;
But
when
the
vivid
ore
Has
met
flame's
demands,
Its
quivering
substance
plays
Without
a
color
but
the
light
Of
pure
blaze.
Every
village
boasts
its
blacksmith,
Whose
anvil's
steady
beat
Stands
for
the
finer
forge
That
silently
works
within,
Refining
these
eager
ores
With
hammer
and
with
blaze,
Until
the
chosen
light
Rejects
the
forge.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana