"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

                               I've heard it in the chillest land -

                               Yet - never - in Extremity,

                               It asked a crumb - of me.