Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

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