Hope, Image and Description for Emily Dickinson poem #245
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
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 –
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.
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of Me.
Description
No matter where you are Hope is always there. A tropical flower able
to bloom in our living room in Louisville Ky. Hope is Home, where you
are accepted for who you are, “never, in Extremity, / It asked a crumb –
of Me” or “sore must be the storm -/ That could abash” the hope “That
kept so many warm -“
to bloom in our living room in Louisville Ky. Hope is Home, where you
are accepted for who you are, “never, in Extremity, / It asked a crumb –
of Me” or “sore must be the storm -/ That could abash” the hope “That
kept so many warm -“
