Emily Dickinson: Hope is the thing with feathers

30. März 2011

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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.

from: The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson, Introduction and Notes by Rachel Wetzsteon, Barnes & Nobles Classics 2003, p. 22

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