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Hope Is the Thing with Feathers

Emily Dickinson · c. 1861

¹"Hope" is the thing with feathers — That perches in the soul — And sings the tune without the words — And never stops — at all —

²And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard — And sore must be the storm — That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm —

³I've heard it in the chillest land — And on the strangest Sea — Yet — never — in Extremity, It asked a crumb — of me.