"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death."
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Source: 'There's a certain Slant of light' (c.1861)
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