I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea, And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without words and never stops at all.
One need not be a Chamber β to be Haunted β One need not be a House β The Brain has Corridors β surpassing Material Place β
I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there βs a pair of usβdonβt tell! They βd banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
'Hope' is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without words And never stops - at all.
