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.
any stars?
2007-11-30
02:11:21
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23 answers
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asked by
Dr. Knowitall
6
in
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hey its not my poetry .i just asked for comments thats all. its written by the most wonderful lady emily dickinson so i am sharing this with you
2007-11-30
02:23:48 ·
update #1