Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Hope is the thing with feathers

I ran across this poem today by Emily Dickinson - it so perfectly captures how I feel for America and the world at this historic moment:
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.