Thursday, January 12, 2012

Hope, Feathers, and Useful Poetry

I possess hope, feathers, and useful poetry.
This week called for a couple of birthday gifts.
I gave hope, feathers, and useful poetry.


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, circa 1861)


  1. Love it...especially the last stanza. What a great poem!

  2. Love it. Thanks for sharing this poem, Annie. xoxo