"HOPE" is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers-

That perchers 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 in the chillest land-

And on the strangest Sea-

Yet, never, in Extremity

It asked a crumb -of Me.

Nahui*