Thursday, June 7, 2007

* Addendum to today's earlier post

I looked up Emily Dickinson's poetry to get the complete work. Here it is:

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 (1830-1886)


Lynn said...

How humbling. Her writing often leaves me speechless.

Empress Bee (of the high sea) said...

lovely poem, so appropriate too...

smiles, bee

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