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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 8, Poema 35
XXXV.
It
was
not
death,
for
I
stood
up,
And
all
the
dead
lie
down;
It
was
not
night,
for
all
the
bells
Put
out
their
tongues,
for
noon.
It
was
not
frost,
for
on
my
flesh
I
felt
siroccos
crawl,
—
Nor
fire,
for
just
my
marble
feet
Could
keep
a
chancel
cool.
And
yet
it
tasted
like
them
all;
The
figures
I
have
seen
Set
orderly,
for
burial,
Reminded
me
of
mine,
As
if
my
life
were
shaven
And
fitted
to
a
frame,
And
could
not
breathe
without
a
key;
And
't
was
like
midnight,
some,
When
everything
that
ticked
has
stopped,
And
space
stares,
all
around,
Or
grisly
frosts,
first
autumn
morns,
Repeal
the
beating
ground.
But
most
like
chaos,
—
stopless,
cool,
—
Without
a
chance
or
spar,
Or
even
a
report
of
land
To
justify
despair.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — C2 Inglés | Cuentana