'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.
~ Emily Dickinson
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