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.

The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,--
read more

The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,--
And that's the skies!

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition
read more

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory,
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break agonized and clear.

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of read more

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons--
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes--

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
read more

The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Is aristocracy.