314 / Hope | A poem by Emily Dickinson, 1861

Lucian Freud, Man with a Feather (self-Portrait, age 21), 1943

“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, 1830-86

Also:
Poems on Fragments of Paper | Emily Dickinson, 1830- 86
Wild Nights – Wild Nights! | Emily Dickinson, 1861
One need not be a Chamber to be Haunted | Emily Dickinson, 1830 – 1886