A very wise man once told me that you can sing nearly every Emily Dickinson poem to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas."
First, listen to the song:
Now try it!
The yellow rose of Texas:
There's a yellow rose in Texas, that I am going to see,
Nobody else could miss her,
not half as much as me.
She cried so when I left her,
it like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her,
we nevermore will part.
Hope is the Thing With Feathers:
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.
Yup. Still works.
Incidentally, according to Woody, hope is not the thing with feathers. That is my nephew and I must take him to a specialist in Zurich.