Emily Dickinson —1830-1886
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.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh I love the header, smiles...(more squeals, LOL)
ReplyDeleteAs you know, I love Emily Dickinson. Have a beautiful day friend. smiles
Absolutely beautiful... and I love the snow effect!!
ReplyDeleteyes, the belle of Amherst...
ReplyDeleteThe header is a photograph I took where I live. :) I added in the moon and the tree however. ;) Also, the photo was taken in the daytime but I made it night
ReplyDelete