"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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