Sunday, September 2, 2012

hope is a thing with feathers

hope is a thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings a tune without 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 keeps so many warm.

i’ve heard it in the chilliest land
and on the strangest sea
yet, never, in extremity
it ask a crumb of me.

emily dickinson


Kay said...

one of my favourite poems steven

I have just caught up with your mammoth bike ride....and am exhausted just reading about it but the descriptions of the food kept me going!!

Have a lovely sunday...x

steven said...

hello kay!!! i came across this yesterday and it's my first reading of it!!
i'm so glad you enjoyed it and the story of my bike riding adventure - well one of them - from this summer that is almost past!! steven

R. Burnett Baker said...

That is a busy but beautiful sky. It portends many changes....

steven said...

oh yes it does rick! steven

Valerianna said...

Thanks for Emily this morning, Steven!

steven said...

valerianna - she fills a day . . . . in the most eye and heart opening way . . . . thanks for dropping by . . .steven