This poem by Emily Dickinson, I sourced from Kate Atkinson's book Started Early Took My Dog which I finished reading the other day.
Today watching the Royal Wedding, watching the response of the vast vast crowd, there was a real of sense of hope. I can't explain it, it can dissolve very quickly, though I shall hold it as I make my way down to the pub (not dressed in anything as remotely beautiful as Princess Catherine's dress so shan't win the fancy dress comp I imagine!)
Anyway, I've said here's a poem, so here's a poem (Hope you don't mind Ms Dickinson).
'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
Have a lovely day!
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