id	author	title	date	pages	extension	mime	words	sentence	flesch	summary	cache	txt
dickinson-series02_007-1891	dickinson	dickinson-series02_007-1891	1891		.txt	text/plain	73	4	99	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.	cache/dickinson-series02_007-1891.txt	txt/dickinson-series02_007-1891.txt