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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 7, Poema 45
XLV.
As
imperceptibly
as
grief
The
summer
lapsed
away,
—
Too
imperceptible,
at
last,
To
seem
like
perfidy.
A
quietness
distilled,
As
twilight
long
begun,
Or
Nature,
spending
with
herself
Sequestered
afternoon.
The
dusk
drew
earlier
in,
The
morning
foreign
shone,
—
A
courteous,
yet
harrowing
grace,
As
guest
who
would
be
gone.
And
thus,
without
a
wing,
Or
service
of
a
keel,
Our
summer
made
her
light
escape
Into
the
beautiful.
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