The Instinct of Hope

www.pbfa.org

John Clare

Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?
Something about me daily speaks there must,
And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
’Tis nature’s prophesy that such will be,
And everything seems struggling to explain
The close sealed volume of its mystery.
Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace
As seeming anxious of eternity,
To meet that calm and find a resting place.
E’en the small violet feels a future power
And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
And surely man is no inferior flower
To die unworthy of a second spring?

A poem of hope as we enter Spring finally. 🙂

God bless you all my darling avidReaders and have a great weekend!

Hope; Emily Dickinson

nationalgeographic.com

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.

Your poem of the day. 🙂

I’ll try and post another article today or tomorrow. I have one I’m dying to share with all of you.

God bless you all, my darling avidReaders 🙂