Música é o Belo.

"Hope is the things with feathers that perches in the soul 
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 chilliest land, and on the strangest sea 
Yet never in extremity, it asked a crumb of me."

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