Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

681. Before He Comes We Weigh The Time! 1/13/2003
682. I'M The Little 1/1/2004
683. Poor Little Heart! 1/13/2003
684. I Had Not Minded—walls 1/1/2004
685. You See I Cannot See—your Lifetime 1/1/2004
686. Baffled For Just A Day Or Two 1/13/2003
687. I Lived On Dread 1/13/2003
688. I Gained It So 1/13/2003
689. 'Twas The Old—road—through Pain 1/1/2004
690. Each Scar I'Ll Keep For Him 1/13/2003
691. The Only Ghost I Ever Saw 5/15/2001
692. We Talked As Girls Do 1/13/2003
693. It Would Have Starved A Gnat 1/13/2003
694. How Noteless Men, And Pleiads, Stand 1/13/2003
695. Civilization&Mdash;Spurns&Mdash;The Leopard! 1/13/2003
696. It's Easy To Invent A Life 1/13/2003
697. The Grass So Little Has To Do 1/3/2003
698. This Is The Land The Sunset Washes, 5/15/2001
699. If I Should Cease To Bring A Rose 1/13/2003
700. Besides This May 1/13/2003
701. It Is An Honorable Thought, 5/15/2001
702. Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning 1/13/2003
703. When One Has Given Up One's Life 1/13/2003
704. Dying! To Be Afraid Of Thee 1/13/2003
705. Superfluous Were The Sun 1/13/2003
706. Could Hope Inspect Her Basis 12/6/2014
707. Who Were 'The Father And The Son' 3/3/2015
708. My Friend Attacks My Friend! 1/13/2003
709. Such Is The Force Of Happiness 1/13/2003
710. The Truth—is Stirless 1/1/2004
711. When I Count The Seeds 1/13/2003
712. I Felt A Cleaving In My Mind 5/15/2001
713. When Night Is Almost Done 1/13/2003
714. Like Trains Of Cars On Tracks Of Plush 5/15/2001
715. If I May Have It, When It's Dead 1/13/2003
716. To Own The Art Within The Soul 1/13/2003
717. Do People Moulder Equally 1/13/2003
718. One Crucifixion Is Recorded—only 1/1/2004
719. Nature, The Gentlest Mother, 5/15/2001
720. We Lose—because We Win 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 Send Two Sunsets


I send Two Sunsets—
Day and I—in competition ran—
I finished Two—and several Stars—
While He—was making One—

His own was ampler—but as I
Was saying to a friend—
Mine—is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand—

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