Hope is . . .

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

Giotto’s St. Francis Preaching to the Birds, 1299


2 thoughts on “Hope is . . .

  1. A beautiful post: St Francis speaking to the birds, and Emily Dickinson listening to them. Harbingers of Spring.

    • artmodel says:


      You always grasp perfectly the intent and spirit of my posts. Thanks! You’re the best šŸ™‚

      Spring will be here soon, but not soon enough for me!


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