Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1161. Whose Are The Little Beds, I Asked 1/13/2003
1162. Whose Cheek Is This? 1/13/2003
1163. Whose Pink career may have a close 7/4/2015
1164. Why Do I Love You, Sir? 1/1/2004
1165. Why Do They Shut Me Out of Heaven? 1/13/2003
1166. Why Make It Doubt—it Hurts It So 1/1/2004
1167. Wild Nights! Wild Nights! 12/31/2002
1168. Will There Really Be A "Morning"? 1/13/2003
1169. Witchcraft Has Not A Pedigree 11/13/2015
1170. Witchcraft Was Hung, In History 3/17/2015
1171. With A Flower 1/2/2015
1172. With Thee, In The Desert 1/13/2003
1173. Within My Garden, Rides A Bird 1/13/2003
1174. Within My Reach! 1/13/2003
1175. Without This—there Is Nought 1/1/2004
1176. Wolfe Demanded During Dying 1/13/2003
1177. Woodpecker, The 12/31/2002
1178. work For Immortality 1/1/2004
1179. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
1180. Yesterday Is History 3/17/2015
1181. You Cannot Put A Fire Out 1/13/2003
1182. You Constituted Time 1/13/2003
1183. You Know That Portrait In The Moon 1/13/2003
1184. You left me—Sire—two Legacies 1/13/2003
1185. You Love Me—you Are Sure 1/1/2004
1186. You Love The Lord—you Cannot See 1/1/2004
1187. You Said That I 1/1/2004
1188. You See I Cannot See—your Lifetime 1/1/2004
1189. You Taught Me Waiting With Myself 1/13/2003
1190. You'Ll Find—it When You Try To Die 1/1/2004
1191. You'Ll Know Her—by Her Foot 1/1/2004
1192. You'Ll Know It—as You Know 'Tis Noon 1/1/2004
1193. Your Riches—taught Me—poverty 1/1/2004
1194. You'Re Right— 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.

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