Emily Dickinson's poems in translation/Polish/Hope is the Thing with Feathers/The manuscript version

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“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. [1]

Source[edit | edit source]

  1. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171619