hope ~ emily dickinson~

Hope is the thing with feathers ~ Emily Dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers.

That perches in the soul.

And sings the tune without the words

And never stop at all.

And sweetest in the gate is heard

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That keeps so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangers sea

Yet never, in extremity

It asked a crumb of me.