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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 1, Poema 10
X.
IN
A
LIBRARY.
A
precious,
decaying
pleasure
it
is
To
encounter
an
ancient
book,
In
the
attire
of
its
century;
A
privilege,
I
believe,
To
take
its
venerable
hand,
And
warm
it
in
our
own,
To
journey
back,
a
passage
or
two,
To
times
when
it
was
young.
To
inspect
his
quaint
opinions,
To
unfold
his
knowledge
On
what
concerns
our
shared
mind,
The
literature
of
old;
What
intrigued
scholars
most,
What
debates
ensued
When
Plato
was
a
certainty,
And
Sophocles
a
man;
When
Sappho
was
a
living
girl,
And
Beatrice
wore
The
gown
that
Dante
immortalized.
Facts,
centuries
before,
He
traverses
familiar,
As
one
should
visit
town
And
tell
you
all
your
dreams
were
true;
He
lived
where
dreams
were
sown.
His
presence
is
enchanting,
You
beg
him
not
to
leave;
Old
volumes
shake
their
vellum
heads
And
tantalize,
just
so.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C1 Inglés | Cuentana