I never saw a Moor-
I never saw the Sea-
Yet I know how the Heather looks
And what a Billow be.
I never spoke with God
Nor visited in Heaven-
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the Checks were given-
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"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.
Emily Dickinson
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