"Hope"

"Hope" is the thing with feathers

"Hope" is the thing with feathers-
That perches in the soul-
That 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.

-Emily Dickinson