What strangles hope can never hope to kill,

nor conquer, parley, sway, nor hold it near.

Banked fires burn low beneath the deathly chill,

but never sputter, never disappear.

A feathered thing once nurtured nurtures still,

alights in lonely offices austere

and perches proudly, shedding shame—

now, phoenix ember dying, wild and tame,

relight with love the living inner flame!

-commonly credited to Saint Anna Tabatha Olaythe