Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1121. Who Were 'The Father And The Son' 3/3/2015
1122. Whole Gulfs - of Red, and Fleets 4/17/2015
1123. Whose Are The Little Beds, I Asked 1/13/2003
1124. Whose Cheek Is This? 1/13/2003
1125. Why Do I Love You, Sir? 1/1/2004
1126. Why Make It Doubt—it Hurts It So 1/1/2004
1127. Why&Mdash;Do They Shut Me Out Of Heaven? 1/13/2003
1128. Wild Nights! Wild Nights! 12/31/2002
1129. Will There Really Be A "Morning"? 1/13/2003
1130. Witchcraft Was Hung, In History 3/17/2015
1131. With A Flower 1/2/2015
1132. With Thee, In The Desert 1/13/2003
1133. Within My Garden, Rides A Bird 1/13/2003
1134. Within My Reach! 1/13/2003
1135. Without This—there Is Nought 1/1/2004
1136. Wolfe Demanded During Dying 1/13/2003
1137. Woodpecker, The 12/31/2002
1138. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
1139. Yesterday Is History 3/17/2015
1140. You Cannot Put A Fire Out 1/13/2003
1141. You Constituted Time 1/13/2003
1142. You Know That Portrait In The Moon 1/13/2003
1143. You left me—Sire—two Legacies 1/13/2003
1144. You Love Me—you Are Sure 1/1/2004
1145. You Love The Lord—you Cannot See 1/1/2004
1146. You Said That I 1/1/2004
1147. You See I Cannot See—your Lifetime 1/1/2004
1148. You Taught Me Waiting With Myself 1/13/2003
1149. You'Ll Find—it When You Try To Die 1/1/2004
1150. You'Ll Know Her—by Her Foot 1/1/2004
1151. You'Ll Know It—as You Know 'Tis Noon 1/1/2004
1152. Your Riches—taught Me—poverty 1/1/2004
1153. 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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