“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.