The Internet Poetry Archive

Hope is the Thing With Feathers

Emily Dickinson


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.

Poetry.com.au


<   Back   |    Poetry Archive Home   |    More from this Author   >

This site and all contents (except individual poetic works) are copyright 2000-2020 Curiosity Cave Pty Ltd.
All rights reserved. Read our privacy policy here.