Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Hope is the thing with the feathers By: Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And the sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in the extremity,
It ask a crumb of me.
this poem is taken from my lit time trial... i felt that it was beautiful...(: