Emily Dickinson #poems 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. --------------------------------- If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one #life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain. --------------------------------- I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And #life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love, but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me. --------------------------------- Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need. Not one of all the purple Host Who took the Flag today Can tell the definition So clear of Victory As he defeated-dying On whose forbidden ear The distant strains of triumph Burst agonized and clear! --------------------------------- I felt a funeral in my brain, And mourners, to and fro, Kept treading, treading, till it seemed That sense was breaking through. And when they all were seated, A service like a drum Kept beating, beating, till I thought My mind was going numb And then I heard them lift a box, And creak across my soul With those same boots of lead, again. Then space began to toll As all the heavens were a bell, And being, but an ear, And I and Silence some strange Race Wrecked, solitary, here.