Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

761. I Had No Cause To Be Awake 1/13/2003
762. I Had Been Hungry All The Years- 5/15/2001
763. I Had A Guinea Golden 1/13/2003
764. I Got So I Could Take His Name 1/13/2003
765. I Gave Myself To Him 1/13/2003
766. I Gained It So 1/13/2003
767. I Found The Phrase To Every Thought 5/15/2001
768. I Felt My Life With Both My Hands 1/13/2003
769. I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain (280) 1/20/2003
770. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
771. I Fear A Man Of Frugal Speech 1/13/2003
772. I Envy Seas, Whereon He Rides 1/13/2003
773. I Dwell In Possibility 1/13/2003
774. I Dreaded That First Robin, So 1/13/2003
775. I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce 5/15/2001
776. I Died For Beauty 1/3/2003
777. I Cross Till I Am Weary 1/13/2003
778. I Cried At Pity—not At Pain 1/1/2004
779. I Could Suffice For Him, I Knew 1/13/2003
780. I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet 1/13/2003
781. I Could Not Drink It, Sweet 1/13/2003
782. I Could Die—to Know 1/1/2004
783. I Could Bring You Jewels—had I A Mind To 1/1/2004
784. I Cautious, Scanned My Little Life 1/13/2003
785. I Can'T Tell You—but You Feel It 1/1/2004
786. I Cannot Live With You (No. 640) 1/20/2003
787. I Cannot Dance Upon My Toes 1/13/2003
788. I Cannot Buy It—'Tis Not Sold 1/1/2004
789. I Cannot Be Ashamed 1/13/2003
790. I Can Wade Grief 1/13/2003
791. I Came To Buy A Smile—today 1/1/2004
792. I Bring An Unaccustomed Wine 1/13/2003
793. I Breathed Enough To Learn The Trick, 5/14/2001
794. I Asked No Other Thing 1/13/2003
795. I Am Ashamed—i Hide 1/1/2004
796. I Am Alive—i Guess 1/1/2004
797. How Well I Knew Her Not 1/13/2003
798. How The Waters Closed Above Him 1/13/2003
799. How The Old Mountains Drip With Sunset 1/13/2003
800. How Sick—to Wait—in Any Place—but Thine 1/1/2004
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.

[Hata Bildir]