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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 8, Poema 17
XVII.
TRIUMPH.
Triumph
may
take
different
forms.
There's
triumph
in
the
room
When
that
old
ruler,
Death,
Is
overcome
by
faith.
There's
triumph
of
the
finer
mind
When
truth,
long
affronted,
Rises
calm
to
her
supreme,
Her
God
her
only
crowd.
A
triumph
when
temptation's
lure
Is
slowly
returned,
One
eye
on
the
heaven
forsaken
And
one
on
the
ordeal.
A
greater
triumph,
by
himself
Experienced,
who
can
pass
Acquitted
from
that
bare
court,
Jehovah's
presence!
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