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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 12, Poema 50
L.
THE
SOUL'S
STORM.
It
struck
me
every
day
The
lightning
was
as
new
As
if
the
cloud
that
instant
slit
And
let
the
fire
through.
It
burned
me
in
the
night,
It
blistered
in
my
dream;
It
sickened
fresh
upon
my
sight
With
every
morning's
beam.
I
thought
that
storm
was
brief,
—
The
maddest,
quickest
by;
But
Nature
lost
the
date
of
this,
And
left
it
in
the
sky.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana