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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 13
XIII.
THE
ORIOLE.
One
of
the
ones
that
Midas
touched,
Who
failed
to
touch
us
all,
Was
that
confiding
prodigal,
The
blissful
oriole.
So
drunk,
he
disavows
it
With
badinage
divine;
So
dazzling,
we
mistake
him
For
an
alighting
mine.
A
pleader,
a
dissembler,
An
epicure,
a
thief,
—
Betimes
an
oratorio,
An
ecstasy
in
chief;
The
Jesuit
of
orchards,
He
cheats
as
he
enchants
Of
an
entire
attar
For
his
decamping
wants.
The
splendor
of
a
Burmah,
The
meteor
of
birds,
Departing
like
a
pageant
Of
ballads
and
of
bards.
I
never
thought
that
Jason
sought
For
any
golden
fleece;
But
then
I
am
a
rural
man,
With
thoughts
that
make
for
peace.
But
if
there
were
a
Jason,
Tradition
suffer
me
Behold
his
lost
emolument
Upon
the
apple-tree.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana