EN + ES
Escuchar
382
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 11, Poema 21
XXI.
THE
MOON.
The
moon
was
but
a
chin
of
gold
A
night
or
two
ago,
And
now
she
turns
her
perfect
face
Upon
the
world
below.
Her
forehead
is
of
amplest
blond;
Her
cheek
like
beryl
stone;
Her
eye
unto
the
summer
dew
The
likest
I
have
known.
Her
lips
of
amber
never
part;
But
what
must
be
the
smile
Upon
her
friend
she
could
bestow
Were
such
her
silver
will!
And
what
a
privilege
to
be
But
the
remotest
star!
For
certainly
her
way
might
pass
Beside
your
twinkling
door.
Her
bonnet
is
the
firmament,
The
universe
her
shoe,
The
stars
the
trinkets
at
her
belt,
Her
dimities
of
blue.
||
||
Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana