Emily Dickinson

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

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Aruna (12/8/2017 8:14:00 AM)

    Closer to me

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  • Mayssa (12/5/2017 5:12:00 AM)

    She is a great poet

  • Emily Durgin (11/28/2017 2:07:00 PM)

    She is a great poet! And we share a first name!

  • jackie (11/27/2017 6:55:00 PM)

    she wrote amazing poems that everyone should believe in

  • Kshirod Kumar Dehury Kshirod Kumar Dehury (11/24/2017 5:58:00 AM)

    i like this poem.so beautiful in simple words.thanks for sharing.

  • Saurabh (11/12/2017 6:42:00 PM)

    Great5ttttttyttttttttytyttttttttttg

  • Trinity Salem (10/24/2017 10:01:00 AM)

    I can tell that some of you don't like her poems but in my opinion I believe that her poems will inspire those who don't like her poems someday.

  • Mehta Hasmukh Amathalal Mehta Hasmukh Amathalal (8/15/2017 11:44:00 AM)

    welcome s r chandrlekha
    Like · Reply · Just now

  • Houda Saoudi (8/14/2017 4:58:00 AM)

    I love her

  • Ahuaji Hun (6/18/2017 5:06:00 AM)

    They say you're eccentric because they all have neither the patience nor the intelligence to comprehend you or your words.They turn a blind eye to your sophistication because they fear admitting that they are not clever enough.But I don't.You are not actually good-looking but to me you got the everlasting attraction.You've left but what you sought to say always hangs around me.

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—

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