National Poetry Month - Emily Dickinson

 

In honor of National Poetry Month, I wanted to acknowledge one of the great poets. Emily Dickinson. She is probably my favorite poet of all time. I have loved her work since I was very young and discovered the world of poetry.


Emily had many great works, but for me it isn't hard to choose. I'm not sure if this was the first poem of hers that I ever read, but it has so much meaning and to this day evokes such emotions from me that it is by far my favorite. As I'm remodeling my writing studio/office, I plan to put a print of this poem on the wall for daily inspiration.

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. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19729#sthash.XqMxGSJh.dpuf

Hope is a Thing with Feathers (254)

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

Emily Dickinson Bio - Poets.org


Without hope we have nothing.  What inspires you?

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. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19729#sthash.XqMxGSJh.dpuf

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. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19729#sthash.XqMxGSJh.dpuf

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. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19729#sthash.XqMxGSJh.dpuf