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Hope Is The Thing With Feathers
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

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.

User Rating: 4,0 / 5 ( 659 votes ) 257

Comments (257)

I need the meaning for this poem
Excellent. Hope is a great thing. Have a nice and safe day.
A very good poem. I’m fully impressed
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Hope rises zooming up. Sweet succinct imagery. Beautiful
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