Hope

"Hope"

"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.

  by Emily Dickinson