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