"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. The Soul cannot be rid - as easy the secreting her behind the Eyes of God."
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Source: c.1864 Complete Poems, no.894 (first published 1945).
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"I am out with lanterns, looking for myself."
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