Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

161. Tie The Strings To My Life, My Lord, 5/15/2001
162. Through The Strait Pass Of Suffering 1/13/2003
163. Through The Dark Sod—as Education 1/1/2004
164. Through Lane It Lay—through Bramble 1/1/2004
165. Three Times—we Parted—breath—and I 1/1/2004
166. Those Who Have Been In The Grave The Longest 1/13/2003
167. Those Fair—fictitious People 1/1/2004
168. Tho' My Destiny Be Fustian 1/13/2003
169. Tho' I Get Home How Late—how Late 1/1/2004
170. This&Mdash;Is The Land&Mdash;The Sunset Washes 1/13/2003
171. This World Is Not Conclusion 1/13/2003
172. This Was In The White Of The Year 1/13/2003
173. This Was A Poet&Mdash;It Is That 1/13/2003
174. This That Would Greet&Mdash;An Hour Ago 1/13/2003
175. This Quiet Dust Was Gentlemen And Ladies 1/3/2003
176. This Merit Hath The Worst 1/13/2003
177. This Is The Land The Sunset Washes, 5/15/2001
178. This Is My Letter To The World, 5/15/2001
179. This Is A Blossom Of The Brain 1/13/2003
180. This Heart That Broke So Long 1/13/2003
181. This Dust, And Its Feature 1/13/2003
182. This Consciousness That Is Aware 1/13/2003
183. This Chasm, Sweet, Upon My Life 1/13/2003
184. This Bauble Was Preferred Of Bees 1/13/2003
185. They Won'T Frown Always—some Sweet Day 1/1/2004
186. They Shut Me Up In Prose 1/3/2003
187. They Say That 'Time Assuages, 5/15/2001
188. They Put Us Far Apart 1/13/2003
189. They Leave Us With The Infinite 1/13/2003
190. 'They Have Not Chosen Me,' He Said 1/13/2003
191. They Have A Little Odor—that To Me 1/1/2004
192. They Dropped Like Flakes 5/15/2001
193. They Called Me To The Window, For 1/13/2003
194. They Ask But Our Delight 1/13/2003
195. These—saw Visions 1/1/2004
196. These Tested Our Horizon 1/13/2003
197. These Are The Days When Birds Come Back 1/13/2003
198. There's Something Quieter Than Sleep 1/13/2003
199. There's Been A Death In The Opposite House 5/15/2001
200. There's A Certain Slant Of Light (258) 1/20/2003
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!


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]