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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 30
XXX.
THE
HEMLOCK.
I
think
the
hemlock
likes
to
stand
Upon
a
margin
of
snow;
It
suits
his
own
austerity,
And
satisfies
an
awe
That
humans
must
quench
in
wilderness,
Or
in
the
desert
tire,
—
An
instinct
for
the
ancient,
the
bare,
Lapland's
necessity.
The
hemlock
thrives
on
cold;
The
gnashing
northern
winds
Are
his
sweetest
sustenance,
His
finest
Norwegian
wines.
To
satin
races
he
means
nothing;
But
children
on
the
Don
Beneath
his
tabernacles
play,
And
Dnieper
wrestlers
run.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C1 Inglés | Cuentana