Emily Dickinson - Hope Is the Thing With Feathers


Hope Is the 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.
Merci !
thanked 14 times
Publié par FrogFrog Dim, 24/09/2017 - 17:34
Dernière modification par FrogFrog Dim, 16/09/2018 - 08:17


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