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Hope Is The Thing With Feathers That Perches In The Soul And Sings The Tune Without The Words And Never Stops At All.
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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 chilest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never in extremity
It asked a crumb of me.
-- Emily Dickenson
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One evening he spoke. Sitting at her feet, his face raised to her, he allowed his soul to be heard.
My darling, anything you wish, anything I am, anything I can ever be....
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Maybe I could have been something more than I am....
There were bells, but I never heard them.
Louie, Louie, me gotta go Louie, Louie, me gotta go Fine little girl she waits for me Me catch the ship for cross the sea Me sail the ship all alone Me never thinks me make it home [chorus] Three nights and days me sail the sea Me think of girl constantly On the ship I dream she there I smell the rose in her hair [choru
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