Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

401. We Cover Thee—sweet Face 1/1/2004
402. Of Being Is A Bird 1/13/2003
403. We Thirst At First—'Tis Nature's Act 1/1/2004
404. Should You But Fail At—sea 1/1/2004
405. Ourselves Were Wed One Summer—dear 1/1/2004
406. The Good Will Of A Flower 1/13/2003
407. Joy To Have Merited The Pain 1/13/2003
408. The Woodpecker 1/3/2003
409. Wolfe Demanded During Dying 1/13/2003
410. Her Sweet Turn To Leave The Homestead 1/13/2003
411. Great Caesar! Condescend 1/13/2003
412. This Heart That Broke So Long 1/13/2003
413. Her— 1/1/2004
414. I Have A King, Who Does Not Speak 1/13/2003
415. To Interrupt His Yellow Plan 1/13/2003
416. My Period Had Come For Prayer 1/13/2003
417. So Well That I Can Live Without 1/13/2003
418. 'Tis Opposites&Mdash;Entice 1/13/2003
419. I Had Some Things That I Called Mine 1/13/2003
420. She Went As Quiet As The Dew 1/13/2003
421. I Think To Live—may Be A Bliss 1/1/2004
422. The Soul That Hath A Guest 1/13/2003
423. When I Was Small, A Woman Died 1/13/2003
424. What Would I Give To See His Face? 1/13/2003
425. In Falling Timbers Buried 1/13/2003
426. To Know Just How He Suffered—Would Be Dear 1/13/2003
427. I'Ve Known A Heaven, Like A Tent 1/13/2003
428. Over The Fence 1/13/2003
429. Through The Strait Pass Of Suffering 1/13/2003
430. When I Have Seen The Sun Emerge 1/13/2003
431. I Think I Was Enchanted 1/13/2003
432. The Red—blaze—is The Morning 1/1/2004
433. I'Ve None To Tell Me To But Thee 1/13/2003
434. She Lay As If At Play 1/13/2003
435. The Fingers Of The Light 1/13/2003
436. I Cannot Be Ashamed 1/13/2003
437. The Wind Didn'T Come From The Orchard—today 1/1/2004
438. The Murmur Of A Bee 1/13/2003
439. Why Make It Doubt—it Hurts It So 1/1/2004
440. We—bee And I—live By The Quaffing 1/1/2004

Comments about Emily Dickinson

  • Pickled Onion (1/29/2005 6:34:00 AM)

    Your poem reminded me of part of your surname

    12 person liked.
    29 person did not like.
  • Theodora Onken (1/16/2005 10:33:00 PM)

    I have always loved Emily Dickinson. She was so quiet and introspective, but had such a gentle gift with words. She spent many an Amherst day writing about the things that touched her so much, and of course, the bee, and nature were amongst her favorite topics. Her gift of writing was discovered later, which is a true shame.

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!


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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