Hope - by Emily Dickinson

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers, That Perches Into The Soul,

And Sings The Tune Without The Words, And Never Stops At All...

Hope

  

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers,

That Perches Into The Soul,

And Sings The Tune Without The Words,

And Never Stops At All,

And Sweetest In The Gale Is Heard,

And Soar 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.  

                                                                           Written by Emily Dickinson