Emily Dickinson's poems in translation/Polish/Hope is the Thing with Feathers/Franklin's editions
Franklin's first edition of the poem edit“Hope” is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all,
And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
And on the strangest sea, Yet never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. [1] |
Franklin's second edition of the poem edit“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -
And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm -
And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me. [2] |