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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 9, Poema 45
XLIV.
The
bone
devoid
of
marrow;
What
fate
awaits
it
then?
It
serves
no
table,
Nor
beggar,
nor
feline
friend.
A
bone
carries
its
duties,
A
being
does
the
same;
An
assembly
without
marrow
Is
a
greater
shame.
But
how
shall
completed
beings
Find
a
new
purpose
gained?
—
Old
Nicodemus'
specter
Confronts
us
once
again!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C1 Inglés | Cuentana