The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, page 39

LIFE XXX W E play at paste, Till qualified for pearl, Then drop the paste, And deem ourself a fool. The shapes, though, were similar. And our new hands Learned gem-tactics Practising sands. XXXI I FOUND the phrase to every thought I ever had, but one; And that defies me, as a hand Did try to chalk the sun To races nurtured in the dark; How would your own begin Can blaze be done in cochineal, Or noon in mazarin XXXII HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, [19]