This is one of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets. Emily Dickinson is very unique in her poetry because she mostly wrote from her imagination. She was VERY shy her entire life, and lived in seclusion, and has a very interesting outlook on life because of this seclusion. I love how she describes hope in this poem.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
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.
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.
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson is definitely one that I would love to write like some day, though never live like her. I believe that God designed us to live in community.
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