Saturday, November 12, 2016

Turning to Emily Dickinson

“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 
(written in 1861, published posthumously in 1891)


At 6:19 PM, Blogger Maureen said...

I love this poem! Thanks for the reminder.


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