"Hope" is the thing with Feathers--(254)

"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

I first read this poem in high school and I couldn't get past the image of a pudgy, little fluffed-up bird, hummering (yes, hummering...those sounds you get when you blow bubbles in water in the bathtub) away, even through winds and rain. Sing on, little birdy, sing on.