`Hope` is a thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without 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.