â€śHopeâ€ť is the thing with feathersâ€”
That perches in the soulâ€”
And sings the tune without the wordsâ€”
And never stopsâ€”at allâ€”
And sweetestâ€”in the Galeâ€”is heardâ€”
And sore must be the stormâ€”
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warmâ€”
Iâ€™ve heard it in the chillest landâ€”
And on the strangest Seaâ€”
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumbâ€”of Me.
This poem is in the public domain.