"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"Here is a little forest Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum; Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!"
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Source: Emily Dickinson, Martha Dickinson Bianchi (1971). “The Life and Letters of Emily Dickinson”, p.167, Biblo & Tannen Publishers
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