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.
This past weekend we explored downtown. We walked past this place called Poet’s Row. Neither of us knew how it got its name. And then we saw it. Every. Building. On. The. Block. They were named after Poets. Oh yeah, no big deal. I live in the Emily Dickinson building. So cool! I thought it was the neatest idea. So, in honor of Poet’s Row, I thought I’d share a poem by Emily herself.