The manuscript of Dickinson’s poem beginning “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers,” ca. 1861.

"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.