| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - Emily Dickinson by Mark SiegelHope is the things 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 birdThat kept so many warm.I have heard it in the chilliest landAnd on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of me. - Emily Dickinson; Hope is
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