"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!"
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Source: Emily Dickinson, Helen Vendler (2010). “Dickinson”, p.64, Harvard University Press
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