Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

1. Silence is all we dread 4/24/2015
2. He Preached Upon 'Breadth' Till It Argued Him Narrow — 5/11/2015
3. The Spry Arms Of The Wind 5/11/2015
4. A Sickness Of This World It Most Occasions 5/12/2015
5. If Ever The Lid Gets Off My Head 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. As from the earth the light Balloon 5/29/2015
9. So much of Heaven has gone from Earth 5/29/2015
10. Mine enemy is growing old 5/29/2015
11. There is another Loneliness 6/10/2015
12. Luck is not chance 6/10/2015
13. The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants 6/18/2015
14. It stole along so stealthy 6/25/2015
15. Image of Light, Adieu 7/21/2015
16. Death is like the insect 7/22/2015
17. Of Yellow was the outer Sky 9/7/2015
18. The Blue Jay 10/8/2015
19. STEP lightly on this narrow spot 10/20/2015
20. Dear March - Come in 12/4/2015
21. The reticent volcano keeps 12/11/2015
22. Remembrance has a Rear and Front 12/29/2015
23. The Hills erect their Purple Heads 1/30/2016
24. The Hills in Purple syllables 1/30/2016
25. The grave my little cottage is 2/2/2016
26. These Fevered Days - to take them to the Forest 2/11/2016
27. Revolution is the Pod 2/13/2016
28. Not any sunny tone 2/18/2016
29. Not Sickness stains the Brave, 2/26/2016
30. Glory is that bright tragic thing 2/29/2016
31. Let me not mar that perfect Dream 3/11/2016
32. 'Twas comfort in her Dying Room 3/24/2016
33. Could mortal lip divine 3/30/2016
34. Whether they have forgotten 4/13/2016
35. By homely gift and hindered Words 4/15/2016
36. Speech is one symptom of Affection 7/11/2016
37. Down Time's quaint stream 7/12/2016
38. 'Tomorrow' - whose location 7/20/2016
39. As subtle as tomorrow 7/20/2016
40. A train went through a burial gate 7/22/2016
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

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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