Saturday, November 6, 2010


"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 (I may be on a first-name basis.)


  1. I love Dickinson! (We played croquet together so we're on surname basis)

  2. Love it! And I love it when you get to first name basis with an author. Virginia got me through a rocky time last December. Glad Emily (Miss Dickinson, to me) and hope are there for you right now.