Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1. Whole Gulfs - of Red, and Fleets 4/17/2015
2. The inundation of the Spring 5/5/2015
3. The Notice that is called the Spring 5/5/2015
4. If Ever The Lid Gets Off My Head 5/12/2015
5. The Work Of Her That Went 5/13/2015
6. And with what body do they come 5/21/2015
7. Whose Pink career may have a close 7/4/2015
8. Image of Light, Adieu 7/21/2015
9. Rearrange a 'Wife's' affection! 9/3/2015
10. Of Yellow was the outer Sky 9/7/2015
11. The Blue Jay 10/8/2015
12. Witchcraft Has Not A Pedigree 11/13/2015
13. Growth of Man - like Growth of Nature 11/20/2015
14. The Hills in Purple syllables 1/30/2016
15. Not any sunny tone 2/18/2016
16. Warm in her Hand these accents lie 2/18/2016
17. Too cold is this 2/19/2016
18. Immured in Heaven! 3/21/2016
19. These Fevered Days - to take them to the Forest 2/11/2016
20. Ended, ere it begun - 4/4/2016
21. The Beggar at the Door for Fame 4/8/2016
22. Tell as a Marksman - were forgotten 4/13/2016
23. Whether they have forgotten 4/13/2016
24. By homely gift and hindered Words 4/15/2016
25. 'Tomorrow' - whose location 7/20/2016
26. A train went through a burial gate 7/22/2016
27. Best Witchcraft is Geometry 8/4/2016
28. I thought the Train would never come 7/22/2016
29. Hope is a strange invention 7/26/2016
30. Speech is one symptom of Affection 7/11/2016
31. The Clover's simple Fame 4/8/2016
32. Not Sickness stains the Brave, 2/26/2016
33. A chilly Peace infests the Grass 2/8/2016
34. The Hills erect their Purple Heads 1/30/2016
35. Dear March - Come in 12/4/2015
36. Volcanoes be in Sicily 12/10/2015
37. The reticent volcano keeps 12/11/2015
38. The Face we choose to miss 9/11/2015
39. His voice decrepit was with Joy 9/2/2015
40. So much of Heaven has gone from Earth 5/29/2015
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—

[Report Error]