Friday Poem: Hope is the thing with feathers

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

Thank you Bjorn for reminding me about this poem… is a good one to read at the start of another UK lockdown….

11 thoughts on “Friday Poem: Hope is the thing with feathers

  1. Thank you. I do enjoy Emily Dickinson’s poetry. All the best for this lockdown. We have narrowly escaped a third one – they found the latest case was caused by foreign fisherman shipped in to spell our own fishermen.

    Liked by 1 person

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