Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

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

I Died For Beauty

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth - the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

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