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Hope Is the thing with feathers
"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.
