Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

641. I Live With Him—i See His Face 1/1/2004
642. The Child's Faith Is New 1/13/2003
643. I Could Not Prove The Years Had Feet 1/13/2003
644. Her Final Summer Was It, 5/14/2001
645. Peace Is A Fiction Of Our Faith 1/13/2003
646. The Grass So Little Has To Do 1/3/2003
647. If I Should Cease To Bring A Rose 1/13/2003
648. Love—is Anterior To Life 1/1/2004
649. Woodpecker, The 12/31/2002
650. The Wind Begun To Rock The Grass 5/15/2001
651. The Spider Holds A Silver Ball 1/3/2003
652. The Skies Can'T Keep Their Secret! 1/13/2003
653. Water Makes Many Beds 11/24/2014
654. There's Been A Death In The Opposite House 5/15/2001
655. Some Rainbow—coming From The Fair! 1/1/2004
656. Rest At Night 1/13/2003
657. If Those I Loved Were Lost 1/13/2003
658. This Consciousness That Is Aware 1/13/2003
659. Knows How To Forget! 1/13/2003
660. She Slept Beneath A Tree 1/13/2003
661. I Learned—at Least—what Home Could Be 1/1/2004
662. I Watched The Moon Around The House (629) 1/20/2003
663. The Soul Has Bandaged Moments 1/13/2003
664. What Is— 1/1/2004
665. I Prayed, At First, A Little Girl 1/13/2003
666. I Cried At Pity—not At Pain 1/1/2004
667. The Definition Of Beauty Is 1/13/2003
668. Safe In Their Alabaster Chambers, 5/15/2001
669. I Cautious, Scanned My Little Life 1/13/2003
670. The Color Of The Grave Is Green 1/13/2003
671. Would You Like Summer? Taste Of Ours 1/13/2003
672. What Soft—cherubic Creatures 1/1/2004
673. Her Breast Is Fit For Pearls 1/13/2003
674. What Inn Is This 1/13/2003
675. Pain 1/3/2003
676. I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road 1/13/2003
677. I Send Two Sunsets 1/13/2003
678. How Many Times These Low Feet Staggered 1/13/2003
679. I Think The Longest Hour Of All 1/13/2003
680. The Day Came Slow 1/3/2003

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

Ah, Teneriffe!


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—

[Report Error]