Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

641. The Mountain Sat Upon The Plain 1/13/2003
642. One Dignity Delays For All 1/13/2003
643. I Robbed The Woods 1/13/2003
644. I Watched The Moon Around The House (629) 1/20/2003
645. The Drop, That Wrestles In The Sea 1/13/2003
646. Never For Society 1/13/2003
647. I Can'T Tell You—but You Feel It 1/1/2004
648. My Nosegays Are For Captives; 5/15/2001
649. The Daisy Follows Soft The Sun 1/13/2003
650. The Robin's My Criterion For Tune 1/13/2003
651. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
652. What Soft—cherubic Creatures 1/1/2004
653. My Garden—like The Beach 1/1/2004
654. The Test Of Love—is Death 1/1/2004
655. Love&Mdash;Thou Art High 1/13/2003
656. I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road 1/13/2003
657. Given In Marriage Unto Thee 1/13/2003
658. I Could Bring You Jewels—had I A Mind To 1/1/2004
659. I Think The Longest Hour Of All 1/13/2003
660. While It Is Alive 1/13/2003
661. I Lost A World - The Other Day! 1/13/2003
662. I Can Wade Grief 1/13/2003
663. Me From Myself—to Banish 1/1/2004
664. I Am Ashamed—i Hide 1/1/2004
665. Tie The Strings To My Life, My Lord, 5/15/2001
666. Our Lives Are Swiss 1/3/2003
667. If Your Nerve, Deny You 1/13/2003
668. My Worthiness Is All My Doubt 1/13/2003
669. Remorse - Is Memory - Awake - 1/3/2003
670. Some Things That Fly There Be 1/13/2003
671. I Years Had Been From Home, 5/15/2001
672. To Die 1/3/2003
673. Had I Presumed To Hope 1/13/2003
674. The Winters Are So Short 1/13/2003
675. My Friend Attacks My Friend! 1/13/2003
676. I Have A Bird In Spring 1/13/2003
677. Her Final Summer Was It, 5/14/2001
678. The Mountains—grow Unnoticed 1/1/2004
679. The Grass So Little Has To Do 1/3/2003
680. The Chariot 4/28/2011

Comments about Emily Dickinson

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

    Your poem reminded me of part of your surname

    12 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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