Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

761. She Sped As Petals Of A Rose 1/13/2003
762. She Staked Her Feathers—gained An Arc 1/1/2004
763. She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms, 5/15/2001
764. She Went As Quiet As The Dew 1/13/2003
765. Shells From The Coast Mistaking 1/13/2003
766. She's Happy, With A New Content 1/13/2003
767. Should You But Fail At—sea 1/1/2004
768. Sic Transit Gloria Mundi 1/13/2003
769. Silence is all we dread 4/24/2015
770. Size Circumscribes—it Has No Room 1/1/2004
771. Sleep Is Supposed To Be 1/13/2003
772. Smiling Back From Coronation 1/13/2003
773. Snow Beneath Whose Chilly Softness 1/13/2003
774. Snow Flakes 1/13/2003
775. So Bashful When I Spied Her! 1/13/2003
776. So From The Mould 1/13/2003
777. So Glad We Are—a Stranger'D Deem 1/1/2004
778. So Has A Daisy Vanished 1/13/2003
779. So much of Heaven has gone from Earth 5/29/2015
780. So Much Summer 1/13/2003
781. So Proud She Was To Die 5/15/2001
782. So Set Its Sun In Thee 1/13/2003
783. So The Eyes Accost—and Sunder 1/1/2004
784. So Well That I Can Live Without 1/13/2003
785. Soil Of Flint, If Steady Tilled 1/13/2003
786. Some Days retired from the rest 4/18/2015
787. Some Keep The Sabbath Going To Church 1/3/2003
788. Some Rainbow—coming From The Fair! 1/1/2004
789. Some Such Butterfly Be Seen 1/13/2003
790. Some Things That Fly There Be 1/13/2003
791. Some, Too Fragile For Winter Winds 1/13/2003
792. Sometimes with the Heart 4/29/2015
793. Soto! Explore Thyself! 1/13/2003
794. Soul, Wilt Thou Toss Again? 1/13/2003
795. South Winds Jostle Them 1/13/2003
796. Sown In Dishonor 1/13/2003
797. 'Speech'—is A Prank Of Parliament 1/13/2003
798. Speech—is A Prank Of Parliament— 1/1/2004
799. Split The Lark&Mdash;And You'Ll Find The Music 1/13/2003
800. Spring comes on the World 5/5/2015
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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