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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 the 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 chilliest land,

and on the strangest sea;

yet, never, in extremity,

it asked a crumb like me.


by: emily dickinson

im tellin u if u never heard emily dickinson...u havnt heard poems...well good poems atleast

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