"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: "'T will keep." I woke and chid my honest fingers,— The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own."
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Source: Emily Dickinson (2016). “The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson”, p.141, First Avenue Editions
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