Hope is the thing with feather
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 has asked a crumb of me.
- Emily Dickinson
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Thơ caThese are poems and quotes that I find that I want to share. I own nothing all rights go to there creators.
