sweet and calm till provoked seen as a help for those who hope and some to care for, for those who don't

My power is great, yet I cannot lift a dime. I live in a cell, yet have committed no crime.

Formally dressed we all confess our love for the snow and sea, the harsh winter wind gets us marching again, until they will cease to be. What am I?

I am a chamber with no door, a room without space; I crack like an egg to an unfamiliar face. But I'm not an egg, as my dweller would know; I was built from within to protect him just so. What am I?

They said, I am the last lonely one, and with me feline lives are done All-father hung for nights, Till runes gave away their insights