"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.