murrays

"Hope" is the thing with feathers 

That perches in the soul

And sing in 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 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.