“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
Happy 183rd Birthday, Emily Dickinson!
When I was an angsty 13 year old, who dreamed of being a poet, my favorite Auntie Ruthie introduced me to Emily Dickinson. Mind blown.