This is a very famous poem, and I haven't seen any interpretations of it. Enjoy!
In English:
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.
You are amazing!
MycalClark 2 months ago
Beautiful. Sweet. Cute
;)
chezdeleuze 2 months ago