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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 12
XII.
PSALM
OF
THE
DAY.
Something
in
a
summer's
day,
As
her
torches
slowly
fade,
Impresses
me
with
solemnity.
Something
in
a
summer's
noon,
—
An
azure
depth,
a
silent
tune,
Surpassing
ecstasy.
And
still
within
a
summer's
night
Something
so
dazzling
bright,
I
clap
my
hands
to
see;
Then
cover
my
too
curious
face,
Lest
such
a
subtle,
shimmering
grace
Flutter
beyond
my
reach.
The
wizard-fingers
never
rest,
The
purple
brook
within
the
breast
Still
chafes
its
narrow
bed;
Still
the
East
raises
her
amber
flag,
Guides
the
sun
along
the
crag
With
his
caravan
of
red,
Like
flowers
that
heard
the
tale
of
dews,
But
never
thought
the
dripping
prize
Awaited
their
low
brows;
Or
bees,
that
believed
the
summer's
name
Some
rumor
of
delirium
No
summer
could
fulfill;
Or
Arctic
creature,
dimly
stirred
By
tropic
hint,
—
some
traveled
bird
Imported
to
the
wood;
Or
wind's
bright
signal
to
the
ear,
Making
that
homely
and
severe,
Contented,
known,
before
The
unexpected
heaven
came,
To
lives
that
thought
their
worship
A
too
presumptuous
psalm.
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