Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

Is Bliss Then, Such Abyss, I Must Not Put My Foot Amiss For Fear I Spoil My Shoe? I'd Rather Suit My Foot Than Save My Boot -- For Yet To Buy Another Pair Is Possible, At Any Store -- But Bliss, Is Sold Just Once. The Patent Lost None Buy It Any More --

Tis Not That Dieing Hurts Us So- Tis Living- Hurts Us More.

I Never Saw A Moor, I Never Saw The Sea; Yet Know I How The Heather Looks, And What A Wave Must Be. I Never Spoke With God, Nor Visited In Heaven; Yet Certain Am I Of The Spot, As If A Chart Were Given.

Two Seasons, It Is Said, Exist- The Summer Of The Just, And This Of Ours, Diversified With Prospect, And With Frost- May Not Our Second With Its First So Infinite Compare That We But Recollect The One The Other To Prefer?

I Think Of Love, And You, And My Heart Grows Full And Warm, And My Breath Stands Still... I Can Feel A Sunshine Stealing Into My Soul And Making It All Summer, And Every Thorn, A Rose.