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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 31
XXXI.
There's
a
certain
slant
of
light,
On
winter
afternoons,
That
oppresses,
like
the
weight
Of
cathedral
tunes.
It
gives
us
a
heavenly
hurt;
We
find
no
scar,
But
internal
difference
Where
meanings
lie.
None
may
teach
it
anything,
It
is
the
seal,
despair,
—
An
imperial
affliction
Sent
from
the
air.
When
it
comes,
the
landscape
listens,
Shadows
hold
their
breath;
When
it
goes,
it's
like
the
distance
On
the
face
of
death.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C1 Inglés | Cuentana