Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1161. I Died For Beauty 1/3/2003
1162. Ample Make This Bed. 5/14/2001
1163. A Darting Fear&Mdash;A Pomp&Mdash;A Tear 1/13/2003
1164. A Day! Help! Help! Another Day! 1/13/2003
1165. A Narrow Fellow In The Grass 5/14/2001
1166. A Doubt If It Be Us 1/13/2003
1167. A Light Exists In Spring 5/14/2001
1168. Death Leaves Us Homesick, Who Behind 1/13/2003
1169. A Drop Fell On The Apple Tree 5/14/2001
1170. A Death Blow Is A Life Blow To Some 1/13/2003
1171. Success Is Counted Sweetest 12/31/2002
1172. A Door Just Opened On A Street 5/14/2001
1173. 'Morning' Means 'Milking' To The Farmer 1/13/2003
1174. "Houses"&Mdash;So The Wise Men Tell Me 1/13/2003
1175. If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, 5/15/2001
1176. A Secret Told 1/13/2003
1177. 'They Have Not Chosen Me,' He Said 1/13/2003
1178. A Burdock&Mdash;Clawed My Gown 1/13/2003
1179. A Clock Stopped -- Not The Mantel's 5/14/2001
1180. "I Want"&Mdash;It Pleaded&Mdash;All Its Life 1/13/2003
1181. 'Speech'—is A Prank Of Parliament 1/13/2003
1182. "Unto Me?" I Do Not Know You 1/13/2003
1183. A Dying Tiger&Mdash;Moaned For Drink 1/13/2003
1184. 'Arcturus' Is His Other Name 1/13/2003
1185. A Charm Invests A Face 1/13/2003
1186. I'M Nobody! Who Are You? 5/15/2001
1187. A Cloud Withdrew From The Sky 1/13/2003
1188. A Coffin—is A Small Domain 1/13/2003
1189. Because I Could Not Stop For Death 1/20/2003
1190. "Heaven" Has Different Signs&Mdash;To Me 1/13/2003
1191. A Bird Came Down 5/14/2001
1192. "Nature" Is What We See 1/13/2003
1193. "Heaven"—Is What I Cannot Reach! 1/13/2003
1194. A Book 1/3/2003
1195. "Faith" Is A Fine Invention 1/13/2003
1196. "Why Do I Love" You, Sir? 1/13/2003
1197. Hope Is The Thing With Feathers 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

Ah, Teneriffe!

666

Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages—pause for you—
Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regiment—
Day—drops you her Red Adieu!

Still—Clad in your Mail of ices—

[Hata Bildir]