Sunday, 20 November 2016

Turning to Emily Dickinson - Joan Lennon

“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.

Emily Dickinson "Hope is the thing with feathers"
(written in 1861, published posthumously in 1891)

(Apologies for re-using this from my own blog - I've been playing host to a disgusting lurgy.  And time spent with Emily is never wasted.)

Joan Lennon's website.
Joan Lennon's blog.
Silver Skin.


Patsy said...

Great poem.

Sympathies for the large. Hope it's a short-lived sort.

Penny Dolan said...

Such a poignant poem, Joan, so thanks. These words have reminded me that I haven't yet read Max Porter's slim novel "Grief Is a Thing with Feathers". I wondered, when I heard about the book, why the title had seemed so enigmatic. Answer: Emily.

Hope the lurgy leaves you soon.

Joan Lennon said...

Thanks, Patsy and Penny - I am feeling much more human today!

Anne Booth said...

Get well soon. This is such an appropriate poem for today's world.

Joan Lennon said...

Thanks Anne - seem to be working on the one step forward, two steps back format ... not unlike the world ... but hope, as the lady said!