Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

361. Not In This World To See His Face 5/15/2001
362. I Know Lives, I Could Miss 1/13/2003
363. Put Up My Lute! 1/13/2003
364. When We Stand On The Tops Of Things 1/13/2003
365. Not All Die Early, Dying Young 1/13/2003
366. The Doomed—regard The Sunrise 1/1/2004
367. I Tie My Hat—i Crease My Shawl 1/1/2004
368. It's Coming—the Postponeless Creature 1/1/2004
369. If This Is "Fading" 1/13/2003
370. His Feet Are Shod With Gauze 1/13/2003
371. I Rose—because He Sank 1/1/2004
372. He Told A Homely Tale 1/13/2003
373. The Poets Light But Lamps 1/13/2003
374. Lightly Stepped A Yellow Star 1/16/2015
375. While Asters&Mdash; 1/13/2003
376. 'Tis One By One — The Father Counts 1/13/2003
377. Portraits Are To Daily Faces 1/13/2003
378. If He Dissolve—then—there Is Nothing 1/1/2004
379. I Got So I Could Take His Name 1/13/2003
380. Morning—is The Place For Dew 1/1/2004
381. I Think The Hemlock Likes To Stand 1/13/2003
382. Not "Revelation"&Mdash;'Tis&Mdash;That Waits 1/13/2003
383. It's Thoughts—and Just One Heart 1/1/2004
384. Pain Has An Element 1/3/2003
385. He Fought Like Those Who'Ve Nought To Lose 1/13/2003
386. A Counterfeit - a Plated Person - 4/7/2016
387. Of Being Is A Bird 1/13/2003
388. Good Night, Because We Must 1/13/2003
389. We Thirst At First—'Tis Nature's Act 1/1/2004
390. Should You But Fail At—sea 1/1/2004
391. Ourselves Were Wed One Summer—dear 1/1/2004
392. The Good Will Of A Flower 1/13/2003
393. I'M 1/1/2004
394. Joy To Have Merited The Pain 1/13/2003
395. She Bore It Till The Simple Veins 1/13/2003
396. Their Height In Heaven Comforts Not 1/13/2003
397. Who Giants Know, With Lesser Men 1/13/2003
398. This Heart That Broke So Long 1/13/2003
399. Her— 1/1/2004
400. Great Caesar! Condescend 1/13/2003

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Vineet Chhikara Vineet Chhikara (5/27/2013 1:39:00 AM)

    Have a look at my poems... and rate them... i am sure you will like them.... :)

    62 person liked.
    77 person did not like.
  • Thepowerbootyhole Mcsexy (5/2/2013 2:39:00 PM)

    Sh*t be cray cray she was a good lady

  • Mikhail Conrad (10/16/2012 5:48:00 AM)

    I love Emily- she's amazing.

  • Dougie Fresh Dougie Fresh (7/10/2012 3:20:00 PM)

    If you like Emily, try some of my poems..they too are dark!

  • Sayeed Abubakar Sayeed Abubakar (5/18/2012 10:46:00 PM)

    A poetess of cool head, deep thought and profound faith.

  • Jacqueline Munson (4/27/2012 8:42:00 AM)

    does anybody know what the poem is called where theres a solider in it?

  • Alok Mishra Alok Mishra (4/18/2012 11:51:00 AM)

    She is just so beautiful in simple words.... Her writing is so perfect!

  • Alok Mishra Alok Mishra (4/18/2012 11:49:00 AM)

    I like this lady's poems so much... She is sure the best poet among women!

  • Jessica Knight Jessica Knight (4/10/2012 10:32:00 PM)

    I think a lot of my writing comes out more subconscious and even though she isn't recent... she was the first poet I could relate with. I'm about to be 20 and the dark years of childhood, childhood, what ever little that was... was brought a little light from her way. I was then opened up to others like Ginsberg, Kerouac, Hemingway, Whitman, Carroll, Sexton, Corso, Poe, etc. I can't really think of any other form of expression that gets me and through everything I'm sure she'd feel the same if she were still alive.

  • John Lavelle (12/12/2011 7:58:00 PM)

    Dickinson is the greatest of all American poets and, along with Shakespeare, among the greatest in the English language. Through her original, unconventional use of diction, rhyme, and punctuation, she transmits Morse code-like messages to the soul. Those with ears to hear, let them hear. Let the others continue condemning her poetry as incoherent babble. 'Much madness is divinest sense to a discerning eye.'

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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