Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DR. SCUDDER'S CLINICAL LECTURE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS LEXINGTON [APRIL 19, 1775] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SONNET: 151 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONNET: 57 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE EGYPTIAN PRINCESS by EDWIN ARNOLD |