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.
This poem is in the public domain.
Born in 1830 in Massachusetts, Emily Dickinson is considered, along with Walt Whitman, the founder of a uniquely American poetic voice.
Date Published: 1890-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/hope-thing-feathers-254