Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

361. I Could Die—to Know 1/1/2004
362. 'Tis Little I—could Care For Pearls 1/1/2004
363. Many A Phrase Has The English Language 1/13/2003
364. One Anguish—in A Crowd 1/1/2004
365. Time Feels So Vast That Were It Not 1/13/2003
366. No Rack Can Torture Me 1/13/2003
367. What If I Say I Shall Not Wait! 1/13/2003
368. The Lady Feeds Her Little Bird 1/13/2003
369. It's Such A Little Thing To Weep 1/13/2003
370. What Shall I Do When The Summer Troubles 1/13/2003
371. Not In This World To See His Face 5/15/2001
372. The Whole Of It Came Not At Once 1/13/2003
373. Put Up My Lute! 1/13/2003
374. The Soul's Distinct Connection 1/13/2003
375. Not All Die Early, Dying Young 1/13/2003
376. When We Stand On The Tops Of Things 1/13/2003
377. The Doomed—regard The Sunrise 1/1/2004
378. I Tie My Hat—i Crease My Shawl 1/1/2004
379. It's Coming—the Postponeless Creature 1/1/2004
380. If This Is "Fading" 1/13/2003
381. His Feet Are Shod With Gauze 1/13/2003
382. His Bill An Auger Is 1/13/2003
383. I Rose—because He Sank 1/1/2004
384. He Told A Homely Tale 1/13/2003
385. How firm Eternity must look 4/6/2016
386. The Poets Light But Lamps 1/13/2003
387. The Drop, That Wrestles In The Sea 1/13/2003
388. I Got So I Could Take His Name 1/13/2003
389. If He Dissolve—then—there Is Nothing 1/1/2004
390. Portraits Are To Daily Faces 1/13/2003
391. I Was The Slightest In The House 1/13/2003
392. 'Tis One By One — The Father Counts 1/13/2003
393. 'Tis Sunrise&Mdash;Little Maid&Mdash;Hast Thou 1/13/2003
394. Not "Revelation"&Mdash;'Tis&Mdash;That Waits 1/13/2003
395. I Think The Hemlock Likes To Stand 1/13/2003
396. The Bird Must Sing To Earn The Crumb 1/13/2003
397. Only A Shrine, But Mine 1/13/2003
398. He Fought Like Those Who'Ve Nought To Lose 1/13/2003
399. Pain Has An Element 1/3/2003
400. A Counterfeit - a Plated Person - 4/7/2016

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Don Hagelberg (7/11/2009 4:17:00 PM)

    Poets can learn a great deal from Miss Emily.

    First they can learn that using predictable rhymes, they steal one half of the impact of surprise which Miss Emily achieves.

    In many on these instances, Miss Emily uses assonance and consonance instead of full male or female rhyme.

    No! Miss Emily is not a poet for the simple minded. On the contrary, she puts her own twist to the New England well read citizen of the early 1800's.

    She remains a poet of innovation and whould be recognized as such: old pattern breaker, new pattern maker.

    Don as 'Tauno'

    25 person liked.
    22 person did not like.
  • Babyjoram Benson (5/18/2009 7:45:00 AM)

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  • X X (5/2/2009 7:56:00 AM)

    I enjoy her work but there are too many dashes in some and it gets very distracting in my opinion.

  • James Pierrelee (3/2/2009 11:07:00 AM)

    After reading about 25 of her 'poems', I am not surprised that fewer than 12 were ever published during her lifetime. Her sister should have kept her promise and burned them.

  • Rohan R (7/29/2008 10:04:00 AM)

    One of the poets that hadn't noticed on early days. Generates philosophical
    messages in all her works

  • p.a. noushad p.a. noushad (7/14/2008 3:54:00 AM)

    a gentle voice with a philosophy of life.

  • Rosa Jamali (6/1/2008 2:30:00 PM)

    Philosophy and thoughts coming through poetry, so precious, the way she treats the words with a gentle decent vioce..

  • okeydokey #3 (1/14/2008 3:23:00 AM)

    ...she is...my all time favorite...there was nobody...ever...that was better suited to write poetry...she is freaking amazing...

  • Kristyn Sommers (10/13/2007 3:06:00 PM)

    Woah she looks like a dude!

  • Dana Tyrrell (6/11/2006 8:02:00 PM)

    a truly amazing poet!

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 Send Two Sunsets

308

I send Two Sunsets—
Day and I—in competition ran—
I finished Two—and several Stars—
While He—was making One—

His own was ampler—but as I
Was saying to a friend—
Mine—is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand—

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