作者Emily Dickinson,1830 -1886， 美国文学史上最著名的诗人之一，她不到30岁就开始深居简出，过着隐士般的生活，并且终生未嫁。
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all. The 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 chilliest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.