"Hope" is the thing with feathers by 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.

©Emily Dickinson