"Hope is the thing with feathersThat 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 stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I've heard it in the chilliest landAnd on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of me."
"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit."
"I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.The thought behind, I strove to joinUnto the thought before—But Sequence ravelled out of SoundLike Balls—upon a Floor."
"A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think."
"To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,One clover, and a bee,And revery.The revery alone will do,If bees are few."
"One need not be a chamber to be haunted."