Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

441. Through The Strait Pass Of Suffering 1/13/2003
442. When I Have Seen The Sun Emerge 1/13/2003
443. The Fingers Of The Light 1/13/2003
444. I Cannot Be Ashamed 1/13/2003
445. We—bee And I—live By The Quaffing 1/1/2004
446. Why Make It Doubt—it Hurts It So 1/1/2004
447. The Wind Didn'T Come From The Orchard—today 1/1/2004
448. No Man Can Compass A Despair 1/13/2003
449. This Chasm, Sweet, Upon My Life 1/13/2003
450. Sleep Is Supposed To Be 1/13/2003
451. One Life Of So Much Consequence! 1/13/2003
452. I Gained It So 1/13/2003
453. Only God—detect The Sorrow 1/1/2004
454. The Luxury To Apprehend 1/13/2003
455. He Forgot—and I—remembered 1/1/2004
456. Partake As Doth The Bee 1/13/2003
457. Herein A Blossom Lies 1/13/2003
458. Who Were 'The Father And The Son' 3/3/2015
459. This Is The Land The Sunset Washes, 5/15/2001
460. The Only Ghost I Ever Saw 5/15/2001
461. Some Such Butterfly Be Seen 1/13/2003
462. When Bells Stop Ringing—church—begins 1/1/2004
463. Mine—by The Right Of The White Election! 1/1/2004
464. If I'M Lost&Mdash;Now 1/13/2003
465. Me! Come! My Dazzled Face 5/15/2001
466. We Outgrow Love, Like Other Things 1/13/2003
467. I Met A King This Afternoon! 1/13/2003
468. Love—thou Art High 1/1/2004
469. One Crucifixion Is Recorded—only 1/1/2004
470. Went Up A Year This Evening! 1/13/2003
471. Where Thou Art—that—is Home 1/1/2004
472. I Cross Till I Am Weary 1/13/2003
473. When The Astronomer Stops Seeking 1/13/2003
474. Me, Change! Me, Alter! 1/13/2003
475. The Malay—took The Pearl 1/1/2004
476. The Sun Kept Stooping—stooping 1/1/2004
477. I Pay—in Satin Cash 1/1/2004
478. I'M Sorry For The Dead—today 1/1/2004
479. If The Foolish, Call Them "Flowers" 1/13/2003
480. If Recollecting Were Forgetting 1/13/2003

Comments about Emily Dickinson

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

    Your poem reminded me of part of your surname

    15 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

And This Of All My Hopes


And this of all my Hopes
This, is the silent end
Bountiful colored, my Morning rose
Early and sere, its end

Never Bud from a Stem
Stepped with so gay a Foot
Never a Worm so confident
Bored at so brave a Root

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