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“Umut”
tüyleri olan şeydir
Ruha
tüneyen-
Ve
sözsüz bir melodiyi söyler
Durup
dinlenmeden
En
tatlısı da –Fırtınada- duyulur
Mahcup
olmak şöyle dursun küçük Kuş
Rüzgar ne denli şiddetliyse
Isıtayım, diye sana o kadar sokulur
En soğuk ülkede işittim onu
Ve en bilinmeyen denizlerde
-Asla- son raddede bile
İstemedi benden tek bir zerre.
“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.
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.
Emily Dickinson
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