Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

401. Rehearsal To Ourselves 1/13/2003
402. He Fought Like Those Who'Ve Nought To Lose 1/13/2003
403. Of Being Is A Bird 1/13/2003
404. We Cover Thee—sweet Face 1/1/2004
405. Good Night, Because We Must 1/13/2003
406. We Thirst At First—'Tis Nature's Act 1/1/2004
407. Should You But Fail At—sea 1/1/2004
408. Ourselves Were Wed One Summer—dear 1/1/2004
409. The Good Will Of A Flower 1/13/2003
410. The Chemical Conviction 1/13/2003
411. I'M 1/1/2004
412. Joy To Have Merited The Pain 1/13/2003
413. Perhaps You'D Like To Buy A Flower 1/13/2003
414. The Woodpecker 1/3/2003
415. Wolfe Demanded During Dying 1/13/2003
416. Her Sweet Turn To Leave The Homestead 1/13/2003
417. Great Caesar! Condescend 1/13/2003
418. This Heart That Broke So Long 1/13/2003
419. Her— 1/1/2004
420. I'Ll Clutch—and Clutch 1/1/2004
421. I Have A King, Who Does Not Speak 1/13/2003
422. To Interrupt His Yellow Plan 1/13/2003
423. My Period Had Come For Prayer 1/13/2003
424. So Well That I Can Live Without 1/13/2003
425. 'Tis Opposites&Mdash;Entice 1/13/2003
426. I Had Some Things That I Called Mine 1/13/2003
427. The Power To Be True To You 1/13/2003
428. She Went As Quiet As The Dew 1/13/2003
429. I Think To Live—may Be A Bliss 1/1/2004
430. When I Was Small, A Woman Died 1/13/2003
431. What Would I Give To See His Face? 1/13/2003
432. The Gentian Weaves Her Fringes 1/13/2003
433. How Well I Knew Her Not 1/13/2003
434. The Soul's Superior Instants 1/13/2003
435. I'Ve Known A Heaven, Like A Tent 1/13/2003
436. Through The Strait Pass Of Suffering 1/13/2003
437. When I Have Seen The Sun Emerge 1/13/2003
438. The Fingers Of The Light 1/13/2003
439. I Cannot Be Ashamed 1/13/2003
440. The Murmur Of A Bee 1/13/2003
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 Died For Beauty

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth - the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.

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