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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 3, Poema 27
XXVII.
INDIAN
SUMMER.
These
are
the
days
when
birds
come
back,
A
very
few,
a
bird
or
two,
To
take
a
backward
look.
These
are
the
days
when
skies
put
on
The
old,
old
sophistries
of
June,
—
A
blue
and
gold
mistake.
Oh,
fraud
that
cannot
cheat
the
bee,
Almost
thy
plausibility
Induces
my
belief,
Till
ranks
of
seeds
their
witness
bear,
And
softly
through
the
altered
air
Hurries
a
timid
leaf!
Oh,
sacrament
of
summer
days,
Oh,
last
communion
in
the
haze,
Permit
a
child
to
join,
Thy
sacred
emblems
to
partake,
Thy
consecrated
bread
to
break,
Taste
thine
immortal
wine!
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana