Thursday, February 23, 2012

Emily Dickinson Kick

I'm on a bit of a Emily Dickinson kick these days.  She is one of the few poets whose words I know by heart.  Today it's:

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.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for posting this. I was thinking of this first line just a few days ago and now I got to read the whole poem on your blog! Yes, we're looking for hope these days.


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