Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

641. Over The Fence 1/13/2003
642. I Play At Riches—to Appease 1/1/2004
643. On This Wondrous Sea 1/13/2003
644. God Made A Little Gentian 1/13/2003
645. She Sweeps With Many-Colored Brooms, 5/15/2001
646. Remorse - Is Memory - Awake - 1/3/2003
647. The Leaves Like Women Interchange 1/13/2003
648. Within My Reach! 1/13/2003
649. Me Prove It Now—whoever Doubt 1/1/2004
650. To Be Alive—is Power 1/1/2004
651. My Friend Attacks My Friend! 1/13/2003
652. God Permit Industrious Angels 5/14/2001
653. Till Death—is Narrow Loving 1/1/2004
654. The Brain, Within Its Groove 1/13/2003
655. I'Ve Seen A Dying Eye 1/13/2003
656. I Envy Seas, Whereon He Rides 1/13/2003
657. Peace Is A Fiction Of Our Faith 1/13/2003
658. This Quiet Dust Was Gentlemen And Ladies 1/3/2003
659. The Name—of It—is 'Autumn' 1/13/2003
660. Woodpecker, The 12/31/2002
661. Love—is Anterior To Life 1/1/2004
662. If I Shouldn'T Be Alive 1/13/2003
663. The Robin Is The One 1/13/2003
664. The Color Of The Grave Is Green 1/13/2003
665. One And One—are One 1/1/2004
666. The Rainbow Never Tells Me 1/13/2003
667. Make Me A Picture Of The Sun 1/13/2003
668. I Had A Guinea Golden 1/13/2003
669. This Consciousness That Is Aware 1/13/2003
670. I Came To Buy A Smile—today 1/1/2004
671. Heaven Is So Far Of The Mind 1/13/2003
672. Snow Beneath Whose Chilly Softness 1/13/2003
673. My Nosegays Are For Captives; 5/15/2001
674. The Daisy Follows Soft The Sun 1/13/2003
675. There Is A Flower That Bees Prefer 1/13/2003
676. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
677. There Came A Day At Summer's Full 1/13/2003
678. To Lose Thee 11/21/2014
679. My Garden—like The Beach 1/1/2004
680. The Test Of Love—is Death 1/1/2004
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

Ah, Teneriffe!

666

Ah, Teneriffe!
Retreating Mountain!
Purples of Ages—pause for you—
Sunset—reviews her Sapphire Regiment—
Day—drops you her Red Adieu!

Still—Clad in your Mail of ices—

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