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18
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 1, Poema 18
XVIII.
THE
BOOK
OF
MARTYRS.
Read,
sweet,
how
others
strove,
Till
we
are
stouter;
What
they
renounced,
Till
we
are
less
afraid;
How
many
times
they
bore
The
faithful
witness,
Till
we
are
helped,
As
if
a
kingdom
cared!
Read
then
of
faith
That
shone
above
the
fagot;
Clear
strains
of
hymn
The
river
could
not
drown;
Brave
names
of
men
And
celestial
women,
Passed
out
of
record
Into
renown!
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