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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 46
XLVI.
It
can't
be
summer—that
passed;
It's
early
yet
for
spring;
There's
that
long
expanse
of
white
to
cross
Before
the
blackbirds
sing.
It
can't
be
dying—it's
too
red—
The
dead
shall
go
in
white.
So
sunset
closes
my
question
With
clasps
of
chrysolite.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C1 Inglés | Cuentana