[1382] Hope

Guest poem sent in by Jessica Schnell <jks26@>

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

Emily Dickinson has long been a favorite poet of mine, and I've loved this
particular poem ever since some time in middle school when I first read it.
Maybe it's because it presents such a cheerful and enduring imagery for me,
of what hope is like, as a little bird with a beautiful and uplifting song.

I noticed you had numerous other poems by Dickinson, and thought this would
be a wonderful addition to your collection, to share with others (I
regularly pick a random poem to post on profiles, away messages, etc.)
Great site, keep up the hard work! [thanks! - ed.]

~Jessica

[Martin adds]

I am reminded of Poem #646 - the imagery in the two poems make an
interesting blend.

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http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/1382.html
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