Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

441. Only God—detect The Sorrow 1/1/2004
442. Just Lost, When I Was Saved! 1/13/2003
443. Herein A Blossom Lies 1/13/2003
444. Partake As Doth The Bee 1/13/2003
445. The Luxury To Apprehend 1/13/2003
446. He Forgot—and I—remembered 1/1/2004
447. The Only Ghost I Ever Saw 5/15/2001
448. This Is The Land The Sunset Washes, 5/15/2001
449. Who Were 'The Father And The Son' 3/3/2015
450. I Met A King This Afternoon! 1/13/2003
451. If I'M Lost&Mdash;Now 1/13/2003
452. Love—thou Art High 1/1/2004
453. When Bells Stop Ringing—church—begins 1/1/2004
454. Me! Come! My Dazzled Face 5/15/2001
455. We Outgrow Love, Like Other Things 1/13/2003
456. One Crucifixion Is Recorded—only 1/1/2004
457. Went Up A Year This Evening! 1/13/2003
458. I Cross Till I Am Weary 1/13/2003
459. Through Lane It Lay—through Bramble 1/1/2004
460. The Malay—took The Pearl 1/1/2004
461. The Sun Kept Stooping—stooping 1/1/2004
462. I'M Sorry For The Dead—today 1/1/2004
463. I Pay—in Satin Cash 1/1/2004
464. If The Foolish, Call Them "Flowers" 1/13/2003
465. With A Flower 1/2/2015
466. If Recollecting Were Forgetting 1/13/2003
467. It's Easy To Invent A Life 1/13/2003
468. May-Flower 1/2/2015
469. I Lived On Dread; To Those Who Know 5/15/2001
470. I Could Suffice For Him, I Knew 1/13/2003
471. On Such A Night, Or Such A Night 1/13/2003
472. 'Tis Good&Mdash;The Looking Back On Grief 1/13/2003
473. Whether My Bark Went Down At Sea 1/13/2003
474. Light Is Sufficient To Itself 1/13/2003
475. Never For Society 1/13/2003
476. What Inn Is This 1/13/2003
477. So Proud She Was To Die 5/15/2001
478. Had I Not This, Or This, I Said 1/13/2003
479. Pain&Mdash;Expands The Time 1/13/2003
480. The Service Without Hope 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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