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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 4, Poema 19
XIX.
To
know
just
how
he
suffered
would
be
dear;
To
know
if
any
human
eyes
were
near
To
whom
he
could
intrust
his
wavering
gaze,
Until
it
settled
firm
on
Paradise.
To
know
if
he
was
patient,
part
content,
Was
dying
as
he
thought,
or
different;
Was
it
a
pleasant
day
to
die,
And
did
the
sunshine
face
his
way?
What
was
his
furthest
mind,
of
home,
or
God,
Or
what
the
distant
say
At
news
that
he
ceased
human
nature
On
such
a
day?
And
wishes,
had
he
any?
Just
his
sigh,
accented,
Had
been
legible
to
me.
And
was
he
confident
until
Ill
fluttered
out
in
everlasting
well?
And
if
he
spoke,
what
name
was
best,
What
first,
What
one
broke
off
with
At
the
drowsiest?
Was
he
afraid,
or
tranquil?
Might
he
know
How
conscious
consciousness
could
grow,
Till
love
that
was,
and
love
too
blest
to
be,
Meet
—
and
the
junction
be
Eternity?
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana