Emily Dickinson

(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886 / Amherst / Massachusetts)

Emily Dickinson Poems

361. I Cried At Pity—not At Pain 1/1/2004
362. I Cross Till I Am Weary 1/13/2003
363. I Died For Beauty 1/3/2003
364. I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce 5/15/2001
365. I Dreaded That First Robin, So 1/13/2003
366. I Dwell In Possibility 1/13/2003
367. I Envy Seas, Whereon He Rides 1/13/2003
368. I Fear A Man Of Frugal Speech 1/13/2003
369. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
370. I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain (280) 1/20/2003
371. I Felt My Life With Both My Hands 1/13/2003
372. I Found The Phrase To Every Thought 5/15/2001
373. I Gained It So 1/13/2003
374. I Gave Myself To Him 1/13/2003
375. I Got So I Could Take His Name 1/13/2003
376. I Had A Guinea Golden 1/13/2003
377. I Had Been Hungry All The Years- 5/15/2001
378. I Had No Cause To Be Awake 1/13/2003
379. I Had No Time To Hate, Because 5/15/2001
380. I Had Not Minded—walls 1/1/2004
381. I Had Some Things That I Called Mine 1/13/2003
382. I Had The Glory—that Will Do 1/1/2004
383. I Have A Bird In Spring 1/13/2003
384. I Have A King, Who Does Not Speak 1/13/2003
385. I Have Never Seen 1/1/2004
386. I Have Never Seen "Volcanoes" 1/13/2003
387. I Have No Life But This 11/22/2014
388. I Haven'T Told My Garden Yet 1/13/2003
389. I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died; 5/15/2001
390. I Held A Jewel In My Fingers 1/13/2003
391. I Hide Myself Within My Flower 1/13/2003
392. I Keep My Pledge 1/13/2003
393. I Know A Place Where Summer Strives 5/15/2001
394. I Know Lives, I Could Miss 1/13/2003
395. I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road 1/13/2003
396. I Know That He Exists 1/13/2003
397. I Know Where Wells Grow—droughtless Wells 1/1/2004
398. I Learned—at Least—what Home Could Be 1/1/2004
399. I Like A Look Of Agony 1/13/2003
400. I Like To See It Lap The Miles, 5/15/2001
Best Poem of Emily Dickinson

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—

I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.

Read the full of Hope' Is The Thing With Feathers

And This Of All My Hopes


And this of all my Hopes
This, is the silent end
Bountiful colored, my Morning rose
Early and sere, its end

Never Bud from a Stem
Stepped with so gay a Foot
Never a Worm so confident
Bored at so brave a Root

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