|
It dropped so low in my regard
IT dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.
"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--
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.
I never saw a Moor
I NEVER saw a Moor--
I never saw the Sea--
Yet know I how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.
I never spoke with God
Nor visited in Heaven--
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the Checks were given--
Emily Dickinson
|
|
