Hope

"Hope" is the thing with feathers 
By Emily Dickinson 

"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.