Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1. It sounded as if the Streets were running 4/21/2015
2. A Pang is more conspicuous in Spring 5/5/2015
3. Spring comes on the World 5/5/2015
4. The inundation of the Spring 5/5/2015
5. I Saw The Wind Within Her 5/12/2015
6. The Work Of Her That Went 5/13/2015
7. And with what body do they come 5/21/2015
8. There is another Loneliness 6/10/2015
9. Image of Light, Adieu 7/21/2015
10. Judgment is justest 12/2/2015
11. Volcanoes be in Sicily 12/10/2015
12. The Hills erect their Purple Heads 1/30/2016
13. Revolution is the Pod 2/13/2016
14. Warm in her Hand these accents lie 2/18/2016
15. The Devil - had he fidelity 3/30/2016
16. Of so divine a Loss 3/30/2016
17. Could mortal lip divine 3/30/2016
18. A train went through a burial gate 7/22/2016
19. Speech is one symptom of Affection 7/11/2016
20. Ended, ere it begun - 4/4/2016
21. Not any sunny tone 2/18/2016
22. Glory is that bright tragic thing 2/29/2016
23. The Hills in Purple syllables 1/30/2016
24. These Fevered Days - to take them to the Forest 2/11/2016
25. The reticent volcano keeps 12/11/2015
26. STEP lightly on this narrow spot 10/20/2015
27. The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants 6/18/2015
28. There comes a warning like a spy 5/11/2015
29. The Duties Of The Wind Are Few 5/11/2015
30. The Spry Arms Of The Wind 5/11/2015
31. Sometimes with the Heart 4/29/2015
32. The Face we choose to miss 9/11/2015
33. Witchcraft Has Not A Pedigree 11/13/2015
34. So much of Heaven has gone from Earth 5/29/2015
35. His voice decrepit was with Joy 9/2/2015
36. 'Twas comfort in her Dying Room 3/24/2016
37. Down Time's quaint stream 7/12/2016
38. By homely gift and hindered Words 4/15/2016
39. I thought the Train would never come 7/22/2016
40. Best Witchcraft is Geometry 8/4/2016
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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