Emily Dickinson

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

Emily Dickinson Poems

761. Nature Rarer Uses Yellow 5/15/2001
762. With Thee, In The Desert 1/13/2003
763. He Fumbles At Your Soul 1/13/2003
764. They Shut Me Up In Prose 1/3/2003
765. We Dream—it Is Good We Are Dreaming 1/1/2004
766. I Reckon—when I Count It All 1/1/2004
767. I'M "Wife"&Mdash;I'Ve Finished That 1/13/2003
768. Glee—the Great Storm Is Over 1/1/2004
769. In Lands I Never Saw—they Say 1/1/2004
770. Unit, Like Death, For Whom? 1/13/2003
771. To Make One's Toilette&Mdash;After Death 1/13/2003
772. I Tried To Think A Lonelier Thing 1/13/2003
773. Life—is What We Make Of It 1/1/2004
774. We Can But Follow To The Sun 1/13/2003
775. To Offer Brave Assistance 1/13/2003
776. I'M The Little 1/1/2004
777. Twice Had Summer Her Fair Verdure 1/13/2003
778. Impossibility, Like Wine 1/13/2003
779. Going To Him! Happy Letter! Tell Him-- 5/14/2001
780. While It Is Alive 1/13/2003
781. If I Could Bribe Them By A Rose 1/13/2003
782. Twas Crisis—all The Length Had Passed 1/1/2004
783. That Is Solemn We Have Ended 1/13/2003
784. God Gave A Loaf To Every Bird, 12/31/2002
785. If I Should Die 1/13/2003
786. Going To Heaven! 1/13/2003
787. I Should Not Dare To Leave My Friend 1/13/2003
788. The Admirations—and Contempts—of Time 1/1/2004
789. I Shall Know Why—when Time Is Over 1/1/2004
790. How Fortunate The Grave 1/13/2003
791. These Are The Days When Birds Come Back 1/13/2003
792. My Life Had Stood 1/3/2003
793. They Say That 'Time Assuages, 5/15/2001
794. Upon Concluded Lives 1/13/2003
795. Two Swimmers Wrestled On The Spar 1/13/2003
796. Under The Light, Yet Under 1/13/2003
797. Good Morning—midnight 1/1/2004
798. I Held A Jewel In My Fingers 1/13/2003
799. That First Day, When You Praised Me, Sweet 1/13/2003
800. How Many Flowers Fail In Wood 1/13/2003
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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