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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 12
XII.
PSALM
OF
THE
DAY.
A
something
in
a
summer's
day,
As
slow
her
flambeaux
burn
away,
Which
solemnizes
me.
A
something
in
a
summer's
noon,
—
An
azure
depth,
a
wordless
tune,
Transcending
ecstasy.
And
still
within
a
summer's
night
A
something
so
transporting
bright,
I
clap
my
hands
to
see;
Then
veil
my
too
inspecting
face,
Lest
such
a
subtle,
shimmering
grace
Flutter
too
far
for
me.
The
wizard-fingers
never
rest,
The
purple
brook
within
the
breast
Still
chafes
its
narrow
bed;
Still
rears
the
East
her
amber
flag,
Guides
still
the
sun
along
the
crag
His
caravan
of
red,
Like
flowers
that
heard
the
tale
of
dews,
But
never
deemed
the
dripping
prize
Awaited
their
low
brows;
Or
bees,
that
thought
the
summer's
name
Some
rumor
of
delirium
No
summer
could
for
them;
Or
Arctic
creature,
dimly
stirred
By
tropic
hint,
—
some
travelled
bird
Imported
to
the
wood;
Or
wind's
bright
signal
to
the
ear,
Making
that
homely
and
severe,
Contented,
known,
before
The
heaven
unexpected
came,
To
lives
that
thought
their
worshipping
A
too
presumptuous
psalm.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana