amor fati

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-

~Hope Is The Thing With Feathers
by Emily Dickinson