"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"An altered look about the hills; A Tyrian light the village fills; A wider sunrise in the dawn; A deeper twilight on the lawn; A print of a vermilion foot; A purple finger on the slope; A flippant fly upon the pane; A spider at his trade again; An added strut in chanticleer; A flower expected everywhere."
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Source: Emily Dickinson (1994). “The Works of Emily Dickinson”, p.114, Wordsworth Editions
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