Hope Is the Thing with Feathers
Hope Is the Thing with Feathers 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.
Hope is like a bird with feathers By Emily Dickinson
Hope is like a bird with feathers That rests in your spirit, And makes music without any lyrics, And keeps going endlessly,
And sounds most pleasant in a strong wind; And the storm must be really harsh To embarrass the small bird That brought comfort to so many.
I've sensed it in the coldest places, And on the most unusual ocean; Yet, at no point, in tough times, Did it ever ask for anything from me.