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 lands,
and on the strangest sea;
yet never in extremity,
it asked a crumb of me.
(I have found that, while it may not ask anything of me, it perches more often when I make an overt invitation.)