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 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.