|
|
"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.
-Written by Emily Dickinson 
BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS
