“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.
