Dickinson, Emily (1830 – 1886)
1 “Hope” is the thing with feathers
2 That perches in the soul
3 And sings the tune without the words
4 And never stops at all,
5 And sweetest in the gale is heard;
6 And sore must be the storm
7 That could abash the little bird
8 That kept so many warm.
9 I’ve heard it in the chillest land
10 And on the strangest sea,
11 Yet never, in extremity,
12 It asked a crumb of me.