"'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 years warm —

I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.

— Emily Dickinson (254)