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Hopeis the thing with feathersThat perches1 in the soulAnd sings the tune2 without the wordsAnd never sTOPsat all
And sweetestin the Galeis heartAnd sore must be the stormThat could abash3 the little birdThat kept so many warm
Ive heard it in the chilliest4 landAnd on the strangest SeaYet，never，in Extremity，It asked a crumbof me.
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