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 strongest sea;
yet, never, in extremity,
i asked a crumb of me

emily dickinson

tag : emily dickinson

2010-04-15 22:09 : 楽曲 : コメント : 0 : トラックバック : 0 :
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