Two poets, Emily Dickinson and D.H. Lawrence, use similar imagery to talk about endurance. And yet, I cannot help but feel that their ideas of what strength is differ greatly from each other.
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
~ D.H. Lawrence
Hope is the thing with feathers (254)
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