“Hope” is the thing with feathers

It is a gorgeous day here at the Palatial Horvath Estate. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the wind is warm, the forsythia is budding. It’s the kind of a spring day that makes you feel like spinning around in a circle with your hands held out while you sing “the hills are a-liiiiivvveee…”

 

Or maybe that’s just me.

 

So, being that it’s such a nice day, I thought I would share one of my very favorite poems by one of my very favorite poets – Emily Dickinson. I love her so much that I named one of my cats after her.

 

Enjoy!

 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers
by 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.