“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 chilliest land-

And on the strangest Sea

Yet never- in Extremity

It asked a crumb- of me.