"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.
Oh, Miss Emily. So many dashes for such a little poem.
I have to puzzle out the ending. Hope never asked a bit of me... hope is free for the taking? You can take as much hope as you need and never owe 'It' a thing? Maybe.
What about offering hope to other people? I guess that's sort of a roundable equation, however. "Hope" doesn't care if you give back or not. Mostly, it just wants to be wanted.
(...I have a hard time with this whole 'Hope as a Being' concept)
Hope certainly can be a little fluttery thing that keeps you alive, however. It carries an awful lot of power for something so seemingly lightweight.
What are some places in your life where you've lost hope? How did you find it again?
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I also have a hard time with hope as a being,but I can certainly identify with the idea of hearing hope in the chillest land.
I don't know if I exactly lost hope in Finland, but I remember just feeling resigned, feeling like it wasn't going to be the adventure I'd dreamed of, and it was just my life for the next while and I should just get used to it. I had a similar reaction when I spent my 3rd year of university in France. It wasn't exciting, it was just my life and I just had to get through that part of it.
I think I found hope again that day in February when the sun finally came out again. The tiny bit of warmth it shed, and the beautiful beautiful light...I remember how we both just stopped and smiled and rejoiced at the return of the sun.
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