Emily Dickinson, 314

 
“Hoop” is it ding mei fearren -
Dat delstrykt yn de siel -
It sjongt it wyske sûnder tekst -
Falt noait foar altyd - stil -

En klinkt - it moaist - yn straffe Wyn -
Hoe rou is net de stoarm
Dy’t it Fûgeltsje ferbûkje kin -
It hold sa’n protte waarm -

Yn ’t kâldste lân haw Ik it heard -
En op de frjemdste See -
Mar - noait - sels yn de slimste Need,
Woe it in krom - fan my.

 

“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.

 

F314 (J254). Ofbylding: Houghton Library, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA. YouTube: ‘“Hope” is the thing with feathers’ foardroegen troch Kate Mayne, 2015.

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