Hope 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)
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Photographed
March 24, 2009
Stadtpark Pond
He's such a strange mottled bird that it makes him lovable. :D
ReplyDeleteYes, TASH, indeed,
ReplyDeletethat's why he got a post all of his own. ;-)
Thank you for your comment! :-)
:) this is such a cute post :)!
ReplyDeleteHe looks as if he has a story all his own to tell us...love Emily Dickinson...fitted so perfectly.
ReplyDeleteLARA,
ReplyDeletethank you! :-)
MOANNIE,
yes, if only birds could talk -
he certainly would have a story to tell! I love Emily Dickinson, especially this poem.
Photo and poem fit perfectly.
ReplyDeleteLOL! Looks like he or she is having a bad feather day.
ReplyDeletewww.thequietone.net
Thank you, BARBARA! :-)
ReplyDeleteCATHY,
*giggle* - Bad feather day, that makes my day, thank you (especially since I have to go out into the rain right now). :-)
The picture of that rather bedraggled-looking Hooded Crow goes well with Emily Dickens poetry!
ReplyDeleteLovely oiseau...
ReplyDeleteLovely poem...
I love Emily Dickinson! This was was a nice way to post.
ReplyDelete