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by Emily 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.
This is one of my favorite Dickinson poems (there are many). I always love teaching any of her poems, particularly in general education classes and to non-poets--she is accessible and clear, but still uses poetic techniques (a conceit here--yes, it's an extended metaphor again!) and word play. In other words, she sacrifices noting in terms of writing skill to be clear.
And this poem is hopeful, of course, which is not always found in poetry. I also like how Dickinson puts herself/a speaker into the poem in the 3rd stanza, telling us where she has found hope. And then the ending! Hope asks nothing of us--it just is. Very meaningful and powerful, and yet we also end with a visual image of a crumb (which is also just a great word one does not see often in poems!).
I hope (see what I did here?) you enjoy this poem as much as I do.
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