Choice

De las almas creadas
Supe escoger la mía.
Cuando parta el espíritu
Y se apague la vida,
Y sean Hoy y Ayer
Como fuego y ceniza,
Y acabe de la carne
La tragedia mezquina,
Y hacia la Altura vuelvan
Todos la frente viva,
Y se rasgue la bruma...
Yo diré: Ved la chispa
Y el luminoso átomo
Que preferí a la arcilla

Of all the souls that stand create
I have elected one.
When sense from spirit flies away,
And deception is done;
When that is and that was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;
When figures show their royal front
And clouds are carved away, —
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!

Emily Dickinson



Credits
Writer(s): Emily Dickinson
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