Monday, July 09, 2012

Emily Dickinson, 254

It's been a few months since National Poetry Month (see posts) and this blog is in need of a bit of verse. Yesterday, while watching reruns of Criminal Minds,1 I was reminded of this gem.

Emily Dickinson, Untitled Poem 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.
Read more Dickinson:
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson.
  1. One of the quotations featured in Mosley Lane (season 5) was the first stanza of this poem.


  1. This is one of my absolute favourite poems, thanks for posting it and reminding me of it.

  2. You are very, very welcome. It was so nice to be reminded about it myself yesterday.