8 augustus 2010


Nate Frizzell.
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.

by Emily Dickinson
Painting by Nate Frizzell

3 opmerkingen:

Aputsiaq zei

Beautiful Anna...I like both the poem and the images!!

Hermes zei

And another. Love Emily's work. Have a really good week.

Tinkuzza zei

Thanks a lot! It is so much concerned my heart