Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

601. When Night Is Almost Done 1/13/2003
602. The Only Ghost I Ever Saw 5/15/2001
603. Her&Mdash;"Last Poems" 1/13/2003
604. I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet 1/13/2003
605. If It Had No Pencil 1/13/2003
606. I Want—it Pleaded—all Its Life— 1/1/2004
607. He Was Weak, And I Was Strong—then 1/1/2004
608. If Those I Loved Were Lost 1/13/2003
609. The Winters Are So Short 1/13/2003
610. When Roses Cease To Bloom, Sir 1/13/2003
611. I Had A Guinea Golden 1/13/2003
612. I Play At Riches—to Appease 1/1/2004
613. I Learned—at Least—what Home Could Be 1/1/2004
614. The Color Of A Queen, Is This 1/13/2003
615. Heaven Is So Far Of The Mind 1/13/2003
616. I Breathed Enough To Learn The Trick, 5/14/2001
617. So Has A Daisy Vanished 1/13/2003
618. If He Dissolve—then—there Is Nothing 1/1/2004
619. Her Sweet Weight On My Heart A Night 1/13/2003
620. My Nosegays Are For Captives; 5/15/2001
621. The Daisy Follows Soft The Sun 1/13/2003
622. The Only News I Know 1/13/2003
623. The Robin's My Criterion For Tune 1/13/2003
624. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
625. I Shall Keep Singing! 1/13/2003
626. I Cannot Buy It—'Tis Not Sold 1/1/2004
627. She Died—this Was The Way She Died 1/1/2004
628. Love&Mdash;Thou Art High 1/13/2003
629. I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road 1/13/2003
630. A Counterfeit - a Plated Person - 4/7/2016
631. Given In Marriage Unto Thee 1/13/2003
632. The World&Mdash;Feels Dusty 1/13/2003
633. I Think The Longest Hour Of All 1/13/2003
634. While It Is Alive 1/13/2003
635. The Trees Like Tassels—hit—and Swung 1/1/2004
636. Emancipation 12/3/2014
637. The Sun—just Touched The Morning 1/1/2004
638. Knows How To Forget! 1/13/2003
639. I Lost A World - The Other Day! 1/13/2003
640. Me From Myself—to Banish 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

    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

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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