i love rich literature. my grandmother, when i was a child, would read a book of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s writings to me. i loved it then, but now, i cherish it. i’m grateful that my grandmother thought that that kind of writing was important. it’s beautiful.
in honor of that…i thought i would share a little of what i was reading today.
Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all
And sweetest in the gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm
I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb of Me.
this is so beautiful to me.