I am so utterly tired that this poem is all I have energy to find. It is a beautiful poem, but… I think most people have already read it. Well… it’s so wonderful, read it again! We discussed this in English class about two weeks ago. I am surprised that none of my classmates had heard of it.

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.