"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?"
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Source: Emily Dickinson, Cristanne Miller (2016). “Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them”, p.54, Harvard University Press
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