This poem is Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson. Hope is the Thing with Feathers that perches in the song and sings a tune without the words and never stops at all. And sweetest in the gale is heard and sore must be the storm that could have bashed the little bird that kept so many warm. I've heard it in the Chilisland and on the stranger's sea yet never in extremity it asked a crumb of me.