Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Emily Dickinson. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Emily Dickinson. Mostrar todas las entradas
lunes, 13 de abril de 2020
Temo a la persona de pocas palabras
Temo a la persona silenciosa.
Al sermoneador, lo puedo aguantar;
al charlatán, lo puedo entretener.
Pero con quien cavila
mientras el resto no deja de parlotear,
con esta persona soy cautelosa.
Temo que sea una gran persona.
Emily Dickinson (Amherst, Massachusetts, 1830 - 1886)
lunes, 10 de agosto de 2015
Hope is the thing with feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
sábado, 4 de abril de 2015
For Arleen, Solitude
sábado, 22 de noviembre de 2014
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