Friday, April 15, 2011



"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.

  by Emily Dickinson


Donna said...

This is beautiful, Angie. Gives me chills.

Hope you have a wonderful weekend!

Delilah said...

Angie, Enjoyed your posting of Friday. As you probably know, Emily Dickinson is one of my favorites. I like those birds that require "no crumbs" - Love, Lilie