Friday, May 14, 2010

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


Number 6 and no more counting! said...

this is just lovely. thinking of you lots and lots!


dreamer said...

It's nice to see the poem posted someplace else. It's been my favorite through thick and thin and even in the worst of times it was with me, even though all I could feel was bitterness.

glad you like it!

wzgirl said...

What a sore storm...yes...and Hope hopefully prevails! Love to you. xo

Kris said...

how much i love love love emily. hold onto that hope :O)