misc

Poem: Hope is a 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
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • Poem: Twelfth Night

    It has always been King Herod that I feared; King Herod and his kinsmen, ever since ... I do not like the colour of your beard; I think that you are…

  • Third Sunday in Ephiphany

    Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift! We need not wander more, but enter with our gift; Our gift of finest gold. Gold that was never…

  • Poem: Untrimming the Tree

    Now all that scintillation is a chore. What they so recently assembled Piece by piece in imitation Of every year for twenty years ago Each day…