"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it."
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Source: Emily Dickinson, Martha Dickinson Bianchi, Alfred Leete Hampson (1929). “Further poems of Emily Dickinson: withheld from publication by her sister Lavinia”
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