′′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.