"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all."
"Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?"
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Source: Emily Dickinson, Ralph William Franklin (1998). “The Poems of Emily Dickinson”, p.767, Harvard University Press
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