Emily

Dickinson, that is.

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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.

delovelydelightful.wordpress.com

One of my favourite poems inspired a bit of bunting I gave to an English teacher friend for her birthday. The gorgeous embroidered rick-rack came from a lovely little shop in Bath— alas, I cannot remember what it was called.
The buttons are made of tagua and I bought them in Ecuador.

You could easily do something similar with a holiday theme.

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2 thoughts on “Emily

  1. Oh, yes! “Haunting” is the perfect word, isn’t it? Especially when you consider Dickinson’s life- the idea of her clinging to hope in the face of her own agoraphobia is so sad…

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