"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.
c. 1861 emily dickinson
Oh, a sign of spring! So nice to see something colorful. That is a beautiful poem. Is the pumpkin real? I am listening to the sander right now. So LOUD!! The operator is wearing earplugs. Flora is trying to take nap, she somehow got a cough. We walked to co-op classes this morning. Still very cold here. Thanks so much for your most recent comments. I have to go through them one by one.
ReplyDeleteSo nice to hear from you! I like hearing about your day with the sander. It's the time of year for coughs. It's good the days are getting longer. We all need more sunshine. It must have been a very cold walk for you. Chanda and I had a walk in the cold today too. I'm tired of feeling so stiff with tights and pants and sweaters and down coat.
DeleteThe pumpkin is a small squash from Halloween-time. Sometimes they dry out nicely on the windowsill. I do like our daffodils. Harbingers of spring! We're hoping they bloom beautifully by the laundry room in the children's garden. If they do, I'll take some pictures. Isn't this a special poem? I love Emily Dickinson.