"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.