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

Comments (2)

I don''t know how I missed this one when youfirst posted it, but I did. Reading it for the first time today i was struck by its power and the pain and anger that you still feel from those years and no doubt always will. An exceptional poem. One of your best.
What a substantive piece of literature! Impressive and powerful!