Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

121. Arcturus 1/1/2004
122. 'Arcturus' Is His Other Name 1/13/2003
123. Are Friends Delight Or Pain 12/10/2014
124. Artists Wrestled Here! 1/13/2003
125. As By The Dead We Love To Sit 1/13/2003
126. As Children Bid The Guest "Good Night" 1/13/2003
127. As Everywhere Of Silver 1/13/2003
128. As Far From Pity, As Complaint 1/13/2003
129. As from the earth the light Balloon 5/29/2015
130. As Frost Is Best Conceived 1/13/2003
131. As If I Asked A Common Alms 1/13/2003
132. As If Some Little Arctic Flower 1/13/2003
133. As If The Sea Should Part 1/13/2003
134. As Imperceptibly As Grief 1/13/2003
135. As One Does Sickness Over 1/13/2003
136. As Plan For Noon And Plan For Night 1/13/2003
137. As Sleigh Bells Seem In Summer 1/13/2003
138. As subtle as tomorrow -new- 7/20/2016
139. As The Starved Maelstrom Laps The Navies 1/13/2003
140. As Watchers Hang Upon The East 1/13/2003
141. At Last, To Be Identified! 1/13/2003
142. At Least—to Pray—is Left—is Left 1/1/2004
143. Autumn&Mdash;Overlooked My Knitting 1/13/2003
144. Awake Ye Muses Nine, Sing Me A Strain Divine 1/13/2003
145. Away From Home Are Some And I— 1/1/2004
146. Baffled For Just A Day Or Two 1/13/2003
147. Banish Air From Air&Mdash; 1/13/2003
148. Be Mine The Doom&Mdash; 1/13/2003
149. Beauty&Mdash;Be Not Caused&Mdash;It Is 1/13/2003
150. Because I Could Not Stop For Death 1/20/2003
151. Because The Bee May Blameless Hum 1/13/2003
152. Beclouded 1/3/2003
153. Bee! I'M Expecting You! 1/13/2003
154. Before He Comes We Weigh The Time! 1/13/2003
155. Before I Got My Eye Put Out 1/13/2003
156. Before The Ice Is In The Pools 1/13/2003
157. Before You Thought Of Spring, 5/14/2001
158. Behind Me Dips Eternity 1/13/2003
159. Bereaved Of All, I Went Abroad 1/13/2003
160. Bereavement In Their Death To Feel 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

[Report Error]