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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 12, Poema 17
XVII.
ASLEEP.
As
far
from
pity
as
complaint,
As
cool
to
speech
as
stone,
As
numb
to
revelation
As
if
my
trade
were
bone.
As
far
from
time
as
history,
As
near
yourself
to-day
As
children
to
the
rainbow's
scarf,
Or
sunset's
yellow
play
To
eyelids
in
the
sepulchre.
How
still
the
dancer
lies,
While
color's
revelations
break,
And
blaze
the
butterflies!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana