Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

by Emily Dickinson

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“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.

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