Hope is 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.