Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

761. These Are The Days When Birds Come Back 1/13/2003
762. How Many Flowers Fail In Wood 1/13/2003
763. The Heart Asks Pleasure First 5/15/2001
764. I Had No Time To Hate, Because 5/15/2001
765. Going To Heaven! 1/13/2003
766. Snow Beneath Whose Chilly Softness 1/13/2003
767. Nature Rarer Uses Yellow 5/15/2001
768. With Thee, In The Desert 1/13/2003
769. How The Waters Closed Above Him 1/13/2003
770. They Shut Me Up In Prose 1/3/2003
771. I Reckon—when I Count It All 1/1/2004
772. I Had Been Hungry All The Years- 5/15/2001
773. I Stepped From Plank To Plank 5/15/2001
774. We Learned The Whole Of Love 1/13/2003
775. Me From Myself—to Banish 1/1/2004
776. Glee—the Great Storm Is Over 1/1/2004
777. In Lands I Never Saw—they Say 1/1/2004
778. The Last Night That She Lived 1/13/2003
779. Upon Concluded Lives 1/13/2003
780. I Tried To Think A Lonelier Thing 1/13/2003
781. Under The Light, Yet Under 1/13/2003
782. 'Twould Ease—a Butterfly 1/1/2004
783. I Shall Know Why—when Time Is Over 1/1/2004
784. This Quiet Dust Was Gentlemen And Ladies 1/3/2003
785. Unfulfilled To Observation 1/13/2003
786. If Your Nerve, Deny You 1/13/2003
787. I'M The Little 1/1/2004
788. Impossibility, Like Wine 1/13/2003
789. Twice Had Summer Her Fair Verdure 1/13/2003
790. He Fumbles At Your Soul 1/13/2003
791. Twas Crisis—all The Length Had Passed 1/1/2004
792. Why Do They Shut Me Out of Heaven? 1/13/2003
793. That Is Solemn We Have Ended 1/13/2003
794. God Gave A Loaf To Every Bird, 12/31/2002
795. If I Should Die 1/13/2003
796. Unto Me? I Do Not Know You— 1/1/2004
797. I Should Not Dare To Leave My Friend 1/13/2003
798. Undue Significance A Starving Man Attaches 1/13/2003
799. We Dream—it Is Good We Are Dreaming 1/1/2004
800. The Admirations—and Contempts—of Time 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.

[Report Error]