Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops read more

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a read more

Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a wing.

Beauty is not caused. It is.

Beauty is not caused. It is.

And so upon this wise I prayed,--
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large read more

And so upon this wise I prayed,--
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours
But large enough for me.

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!

How strange that nature does not knock, and yet does not intrude!