hope … the thing with feathers …

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 chilliest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never in extremity,

it asked a crumb of me.

Hope Emily Dickinson