"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
cru
mb
o
f
m
e