Personal Favorite From Personal Favorite

Seriously, I don't know what it is about poetry that I love, but it is just so goddamn beautiful. Maybe this is what I needed. A revisiting to some personal favorites to lift me back up again- a subdued and surrounded submergence of beautiful things. I forgot how great being in my incandescent literary bubble made me. I forgot just how much it seemed to lift me up and save me- even if only for just a little blissful while. Suddenly I feel more hopeful now. (Or maybe it was just my whole ability to be rid of things I become sick with. ie; this annoying temperament. Hmm we shall see right? Because none of my good moods ever last for long, but here's to hoping.)
But anyway.
Seriously, the greats (way too many to name- I could go on forever- and to each his/her own time period) are called the greats for a reason right? A small and personal confession: reading Shakespeare- especially my favorite parts I can quote- makes me tear up, still after all this time, but reading a really great passage or breath-taking greatly worded verse can ridiculously bring tears to my eyes. Seriously, I swear females become more emotional with age because it is seeming thus so with me. But here's one that I love- I've been meaning to start posting about writings and works that I love. So here's the first, pure and simple without explanation.

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.

-Emily Dickinson