"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 —
"Hope" is the thing with feathers — - The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1960)
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