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
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Rhythm Studies
