“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. — Emily Dickinson