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 ~ Hope George Frederick Watts ~ Hope
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind… as if my Brain has split.. I tried to match it – Seam by Seam - But could not make it fit. Emily Dickinson
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these” Emily Dickinson (American Poet, 1830-1886)
To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie - True Poems flee. ~Emily Dickinson Emily Dickinson: Born in Amherst, Massachusetts, in 1830, Emily Dickinson is regarded as one of the greatest American poets. Most of her work was published after her death in 1886.