Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

361. Many Cross The Rhine 1/13/2003
362. There Is A Languor Of The Life 1/13/2003
363. She Hideth Her The Last 1/13/2003
364. I Could Not Drink It, Sweet 1/13/2003
365. The World—stands—solemner—to Me 1/1/2004
366. Sleep Is Supposed To Be 1/13/2003
367. Who Occupies This House? 1/13/2003
368. One Blessing Had I Than The Rest 1/13/2003
369. No Romance Sold Unto 1/13/2003
370. The Veins Of Other Flowers 1/13/2003
371. Emancipation 12/3/2014
372. The Hallowing Of Pain 1/13/2003
373. Renunciation 1/3/2003
374. The Day Undressed&Mdash;Herself 1/13/2003
375. Over And Over, Like A Tune 1/13/2003
376. The Outer—from The Inner 1/1/2004
377. There Came A Wind Like A Bugle 1/3/2003
378. The Sun Is Gay Or Stark 1/13/2003
379. He Strained My Faith 1/13/2003
380. The Sunrise Runs For Both 1/13/2003
381. Read—sweet—how Others—strove 1/1/2004
382. I Could Die—to Know 1/1/2004
383. So Glad We Are—a Stranger'D Deem 1/1/2004
384. 'Tis Little I—could Care For Pearls 1/1/2004
385. Many A Phrase Has The English Language 1/13/2003
386. One Anguish—in A Crowd 1/1/2004
387. Time Feels So Vast That Were It Not 1/13/2003
388. What If I Say I Shall Not Wait! 1/13/2003
389. The Lady Feeds Her Little Bird 1/13/2003
390. It's Such A Little Thing To Weep 1/13/2003
391. She Slept Beneath A Tree 1/13/2003
392. What Shall I Do When The Summer Troubles 1/13/2003
393. Whose Are The Little Beds, I Asked 1/13/2003
394. Put Up My Lute! 1/13/2003
395. Not In This World To See His Face 5/15/2001
396. The Whole Of It Came Not At Once 1/13/2003
397. When We Stand On The Tops Of Things 1/13/2003
398. The Soul's Distinct Connection 1/13/2003
399. The Doomed—regard The Sunrise 1/1/2004
400. I Tie My Hat—i Crease My Shawl 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

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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