“Hope” is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson
“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 BirdThat 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.