Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

601. I Had Not Minded—walls 1/1/2004
602. Poor Little Heart! 1/13/2003
603. I Prayed, At First, A Little Girl 1/13/2003
604. The Feet Of People Walking Home 1/13/2003
605. I Cried At Pity—not At Pain 1/1/2004
606. I Cautious, Scanned My Little Life 1/13/2003
607. I Meant To Have But Modest Needs 1/13/2003
608. The Way I Read A Letter's—this 1/1/2004
609. I Never Felt At Home—below 1/1/2004
610. What Soft—cherubic Creatures 1/1/2004
611. So Much Summer 1/13/2003
612. There's Been A Death In The Opposite House 5/15/2001
613. I Bring An Unaccustomed Wine 1/13/2003
614. I Never Hear The Word 'Escape' 5/15/2001
615. I Fear A Man Of Frugal Speech 1/13/2003
616. 'Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So 1/13/2003
617. Nature And God—i Neither Knew 1/1/2004
618. So Well That I Can Live Without 1/13/2003
619. Love—is That Later Thing Than Death 1/13/2003
620. The Wind Tapped Like A Tired Man, 5/15/2001
621. I Asked No Other Thing 1/13/2003
622. Where I Have Lost, I Softer Tread 1/13/2003
623. To Die—takes Just A Little While 1/1/2004
624. The Skies Can'T Keep Their Secret! 1/13/2003
625. Knows How To Forget! 1/13/2003
626. The Leaves Like Women Interchange 1/13/2003
627. So Has A Daisy Vanished 1/13/2003
628. Me Prove It Now—whoever Doubt 1/1/2004
629. To Be Alive—is Power 1/1/2004
630. So Set Its Sun In Thee 1/13/2003
631. If I May Have It, When It's Dead 1/13/2003
632. My Friend Attacks My Friend! 1/13/2003
633. God Permit Industrious Angels 5/14/2001
634. Till Death—is Narrow Loving 1/1/2004
635. How Sick—to Wait—in Any Place—but Thine 1/1/2004
636. The Brain, Within Its Groove 1/13/2003
637. I'Ve Seen A Dying Eye 1/13/2003
638. Pain 1/3/2003
639. Peace Is A Fiction Of Our Faith 1/13/2003
640. The Name—of It—is 'Autumn' 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

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.

[Report Error]