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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 5, Poema 9
IX.
THE
TEST.
I
can
wade
through
grief,
Whole
pools
of
it—
I'm
used
to
that.
But
the
smallest
touch
of
joy
Unsettles
me,
And
I
tip—drunken.
Let
no
pebble
smile,
It
was
the
new
drink—
That
was
all!
Power
is
only
pain,
Stranded,
through
discipline,
Till
weights
will
hang.
Give
balm
to
giants,
And
they'll
wilt,
like
men.
Give
Himalayas—
They'll
carry
them!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B2 Inglés | Cuentana