Hope' is the thing with feathers — That perches in the soul… - Emily Dickinson

" "
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.

Emily Dickinson

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About Emily Dickinson

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Virtually unknown in her lifetime, Dickinson has come to be regarded as one of the greatest American poets of the 19th century. Although she wrote (at latest count) 1789 poems, only a few of them were published in her lifetime, all anonymously, and some perhaps without her knowledge.

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Birth Name: Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

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Shorter versions of this quote

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.

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.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches on the soul,
And sings the tune without words,
And never stops at all.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.

hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all

"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 —

Originators like Emily Dickinson:

Lord Byron Edna St. Vincent Millay Alfred Tennyson John Keats Robert Browning

Additional quotes by Emily Dickinson

I am very busy picking up stems and stamens as the hollyhocks leave their clothes around.

Dove tu sei, quella è casa.

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn; Men eat of it and die.

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… - Emily Dickinson

About Emily Dickinson

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Shorter versions of this quote

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