Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

681. The Test Of Love—is Death 1/1/2004
682. She Died—this Was The Way She Died 1/1/2004
683. Love&Mdash;Thou Art High 1/13/2003
684. I Know Some Lonely Houses Off The Road 1/13/2003
685. I Send Two Sunsets 1/13/2003
686. Given In Marriage Unto Thee 1/13/2003
687. I Could Bring You Jewels—had I A Mind To 1/1/2004
688. I Think The Longest Hour Of All 1/13/2003
689. While It Is Alive 1/13/2003
690. I Lost A World - The Other Day! 1/13/2003
691. I Can Wade Grief 1/13/2003
692. Tie The Strings To My Life, My Lord, 5/15/2001
693. My Worthiness Is All My Doubt 1/13/2003
694. Remorse - Is Memory - Awake - 1/3/2003
695. Some Things That Fly There Be 1/13/2003
696. I Years Had Been From Home, 5/15/2001
697. To Die 1/3/2003
698. Had I Presumed To Hope 1/13/2003
699. If I May Have It, When It's Dead 1/13/2003
700. I Have A Bird In Spring 1/13/2003
701. Her Final Summer Was It, 5/14/2001
702. The Grass So Little Has To Do 1/3/2003
703. I Had Been Hungry All The Years- 5/15/2001
704. Without This—there Is Nought 1/1/2004
705. Water Makes Many Beds 11/24/2014
706. Pain Has An Element Of Blank; 5/15/2001
707. I Am Alive - I Guess 1/1/2004
708. Safe In Their Alabaster Chambers, 5/15/2001
709. There Came A Wind Like A Bugle 1/3/2003
710. I Meant To Find Her When I Came 1/13/2003
711. Rest At Night 1/13/2003
712. I'M "Wife"&Mdash;I'Ve Finished That 1/13/2003
713. The Soul Has Bandaged Moments 1/13/2003
714. The Definition Of Beauty Is 1/13/2003
715. She Rose To His Requirement 1/13/2003
716. Grief Is A Mouse 1/13/2003
717. Her Breast Is Fit For Pearls 1/13/2003
718. To Fight Aloud, Is Very Brave 1/13/2003
719. You Cannot Put A Fire Out 1/13/2003
720. Unto Like Story—trouble Has Enticed Me 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

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.

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