Saturday, April 24, 2010

Hope

#254

“Hope” is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without 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, it never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb-of me.

Emily Dickinson c.1861

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