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Hope is a thing with feathers



By: T.L. Eastman 09'

Hope

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 Dickenson
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Mel said…
Oh how wonderful....

I've always been fond of this verse. And the artistry surrounding it--is perfect!

Thank you for sharing it here.
6:31 AM EST
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