Hope" is the thing with feathers
- by Emily Dickinson 566254
"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.
Why do I love" You, Sir?
- by Emily Dickinson 406480
"Why do I love" You, Sir?
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.
Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—
The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—
The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He's Sunrise—and I see—
I love Thee—
Poems by Emily Dickinson, Emily Dickinson's poems collection. Emily Dickinson is a classical and famous poet (10 December 1830 - 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts). Share all poems of Emily Dickinson.
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