“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.
Yesterday I spent almost my whole day in the Strand Bookstore.
And I found a wonderful book with Emily Dickinsons’ poems.
One of my favorite poems of all times is from her, so I took the book and read some of her work.
Then I found this one poem (and I feel like I already know it from somewhere else) that I thought you might enjoy.
I actually posted this already yesterday, but my Laptop is in the middle of a revolution so we are having a hard time.
However, I hope you’re enjoying this poem as much as I do!
Have a wonderful sunday!