Friday, 25 January 2013


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 stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I've heard it in the chillest land,And on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremitiesIt asked a crumb of me.

1 comment:

  1. Oh Anna! I am sitting here, pondering on ideas on how to use this tape! Maybe I should use it for a curtain or a bed spread. It is so beautiful...

    Warmly, Juliane


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