In The Fog

Poem By Giovanni Pascoli

'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.

Comments about In The Fog

Hope is that which stays beyond the reach of failure.
Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a crumb—of Me.
This is a delightful piece of writing from the marvelous Emily Dickinson. This is not really a sonnet in the classical sense, I think. But, it's a thoroughly enjoyable poem.
It is really goood and it is short which is also fog
ches into soulit per

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