"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower The Frost beheads it at its play -- In accidental power -- The blonde Assassin passes on -- The Sun proceeds unmoved To measure off another Day For an Approving God."
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Source: Emily Dickinson (1994). “The Works of Emily Dickinson”, p.98, Wordsworth Editions
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