#254 ("'Hope' is the thing with feathers –")
poem 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.