17 april 2011

~Sunday Poem

Theo Van Hoytema-December 1902 (detail).
     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.
Poem by Emily Dickinson
Art byTheo Van Hoytema
1902 (detail)

Geen opmerkingen: