Hope is the thing with feathers / Emily Dickenson

Hope is the thing with feathers

Emily Dickenson


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.

תקווה

אמילי דיקנסון


תִּקְוָה – כֻּלָּהּ נוֹצַת אֶבְרָה,

בַּלֵּב הִשְׁכִּינָה בַּיִת,

הִיא שָׁרָה בְּלִי-מִלִּים שִׁירָהּ,

שֶׁהַפְסָקָה לוֹ אָיִן.

תִּמְתַּק מִכֹּל בְּעֵת סוּפָה,

מָרָה הַסְּעָרָה

שֶׁתַּשִּׂיגֶנָּה בִּמְעוּפָהּ,

מִקֹּר מִי לֹא נָצְרָה!

שְׁמַעְתִּיהָ בְּאַרְצוֹת קָרָה,

עַל יָם זוֹעֵף, סָעוּר;

מִמֶּנִּי גַּם בִּשְׁעַת צָרָה

הִיא לֹא בִּקְּשָׁה פֵּרוּר.


תרגום: זיוה שמיר


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