Poetry while self-isolating

 

Emily Dickinson’s poetry is apt for lockdown when most of us might be craving for the succour of a natural world, which at least for now remains off-limits.

“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 a little Bird

That kept so many warm-

I’ve heard it in the chilliest land-

And on the strangest Sea-

Yet-never-in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.

-Emily Dickinson – the poem is courtesy of the Poetry Foundation.