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 chillest land,

and on the strangest sea;

yet, never, in extremity,

it asked a crumb of me.

- emily dickinson