"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"March is the month of expectation, The things we do not know, The Persons of Prognostication Are coming now. We try to sham becoming firmness, But pompous joy Betrays us, as his first betrothal Betrays a boy."
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Source: Emily Dickinson (1915). “The Single Hound: Poems of a Lifetime”
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